•• 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


"  (She's  found  it,  granny!  "  said  Phoebe  triumphantly. — Page  at. 


OUT    IN    THE    STORM; 


OR. 


Olittle  Messengers. 


BY 

CATHARINE    SHAW, 

AUTHOR   OK 
NELLIK  ARUNDB!.,"  "  ONLY  A  COUSIN,"  "  1H1£  GABLED  FARM."  fcTC. 


NEW  YORK: 
ROBERT  CARTER  &  BROTHERS, 

530   BROADWAY. 


TZ7 


5n  /Ifcemorp 


A     LITTLE     BOY 


HAS  GONE  HOlfE. 


622678 


CONTENTS. 


PAOK 
9 


CHAPTER  I. 
PHCEBE'S  PLAYTIME 

CHAPTER  IL 

A    PUZZLE I7 

CHAPTER  III. 
MAGGIE'S  QUEST *3 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A   PROMISE 33 

CHAPTER  V. 

40 

COME 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    LIGHTHOUSE 47 

CHAPTER  VII. 
PHCEBE'S  HOME 59 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN  INVITATION          .         • 7I 


viii  Contents. 

CHAPTER  IX.  pAOE 

SAFE  IN  THE  HARBOUB 79 

CHAPTER  X. 

"  'APPY  NOW " 84 

CHAPTER  XI. 

ALONE 95 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   KING'S  MESSENGER IO3 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

TWO  GRAVES 109 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

HARD  HEARTS 115 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  STORM  121 


OUT   IN   THE   STORM. 

CHAPTER  I. 

PH (EBB'S  PLAYTIME. 

ETCH  the  chair,  child,"  gasped  a  man, 
stretching    out    his    thin    hand    and 
pointing  towards  the  other    side    of 
the  room. 

The  child  addressed  hastened  to  obey,  dragging 
the  heavy  seat  clumsily  forward,  while  her  eyes 
watched  her  father's  face  uneasily,  with  a-  con- 
sciousness of  how  much  noise  she  was  making,  and 
.of  how  her  very  effort  to  be  quiet  resulted  in 
fresh  misfortunes. 

The  man  noted  it  all  with  passionate  impa- 
tience, uttering  groan  after  groan  as  each  bump 
and  scrape  racked  his  nerves. 


i  o  Out  in  the  Storm. 

At  last  the  chair  was  placed  by  his  side,  and 
the  frightened  little  girl  stood  waiting  for  further 
orders.  "  Surely  father  was  getting  worse  instead 
of  better,"  she  thought ;  "  for  he  never  used  to 
be  quite  like  this." 

She  had  to  wait  some  time,  for  even  when  he 
had  all  things  ready,  there  was  no  strength  to 
make  the  journey  across  that  small  room.  Twice 
he  sank  back  on  his  bed,  too  weak  to  make  the 
necessary  effort. 

"  You  must  call  your  mother  if  there  ain't  any 
customers  there,"  he  said  at  last,  and  the  child 
ran  off  to  the  shop  below. 

But  there  were  customers.  Her  mother 
stood  talking  with  a  woman  who  often  fre- 
quented the  little  shop,  more  to  have  half  an 
hour's  gossip  than  to  spend  much  money  there. 
Though  Maggie  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  this, 
she  did  not  dare  to  speak,  and  went  slowly  up- 
stairs again,  wondering  dimly  how  long  the 
neighbour  had  been  standing  there,  and  how 
long  consequently  she  would  still  remain. 

"  There's  some  one  in  there,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  invalid. 

"  Mrs.  Wilkes." 

"  Then,  there  goes  !"  he  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"  Come,  Maggie,  haul  at  me,  and  do  the  best  you 
can.  That  woman  will  stay  till  evening." 


Phoebe's  Playtime.  1 1 

He  grasped  the  chair,  and  Maggie  grasped 
him,  and  by  and  by  the  groaning,  panting  man 
reached  the  fireplace.  After  he  was  seated  in 
the  arm-chair  he  was  too  exhausted  to  do  more 
than  stare  about  the  room  with  his  large  eyes, 
while  Maggie  stood  in  silence  by  his  side. 

By  and  by  he  seemed  to  recover  himself 
somewhat,  and  ordered  her  to  place  the  materials 
for  his  work  by  his  side. 

She  opened  a  press  and  took  out  some  neatly 
folded  pieces  of  cloth,  with  some  bright  yellow 
lining,  and  the  man  spread  them  out  on  a  small 
deal  table  in  front  of  him,  and  proceeded  to  plan 
the  lining  of  a  waistcoat.  But  the  weak  fingers 
trembled  too  much  to  hold  the  needle,  and  at  last 
the  man  pushed  it  all  away,  saying  hoarsely, 
"  No  more  work  for  me,  Maggie  ;  I've  seen  it  a- 
coming  for  a  long  time,  and  now  it's  come ;  this 
is  the  third  time  as  I've  sat  up  to  try,  and  it's  no 
use." 

Maggie  was  silent.  Her  father  had  been  too 
ill  of  late  to  bear  any  remarks  of  hers,  and  she 
had  nothing  cheering  to  say. 

He  went  on  talking  to  himself  in  a  low  broken 
tone.  "  No  more  work,  no  more  work — no  more 
rest  neither ;  coming,  coming ;  I've  seen  it  long, 
and  now  it's  come." 

"Father,"    said    the     child    in    a    frightened 


"  1 2  Out  in  the  Storm. 

whisper,  "  what  is  it  ?  What  is  coming  ?  what 
is  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Shall  I  go  and  fetch  mother  ?  Mrs.  Wilkes 
'11  be  sure  to  ha'  done  by  now." 

"  No,  no ;  what  good  could  she  do  ?  She 
likes  her  gossip  far  better,  and  it  don't  matter. 
It  won't  be  long." 

Oh  the  weary  plaintive  moan  that  accompanied 
the  sad  words ! 

He  sat  on,  silently  regarding  the  fire  with  an  ab- 
stracted gaze,  till  his  wife  came  up  from  below. 

"  Maggie,  go  and  mind  the  shop,"  she  said,  bust- 
ling to  the  fire,  which  she  hastened  to  make  up, 
filling  the  kettle  and  setting  out  the  tea.  Her 
quick  eyes  took  in  her  husband's  dejected  atti- 
tude, but  she  attributed  it  to  want  of  food,  and  her 
heart  misgave  her  that  she  had  let  her  neighbour 
talk  too  long. 

He  was  very  taciturn,  only  grunting  out  an 
answer  when  she  addressed  him  ;  so,  seeing  he 
was  not  inclined  to  talk,  she  prepared  the  meal 
in  silence. 

Maggie  meanwhile  sat  behind  the  dull  little 
counter  downstairs,  looking  out  on  the  fast 
darkening  street,  thinking  the  saddest  thoughts 
she  had  ever  thought  in  her  little  life.  Her 
father's  words  rang  in  her  ears,  "  Coming,  coming." 


Phoebe  s  Playtime.  13 

What  was  coming  ?  Vague  fears  filled  her  heart, 
apprehensions  of  she  knew  not  what. 

Presently  a  girl  of  about  her  own  age  entered 
the  shop  and  looked  round. 

"  Holloa !  Maggie,"  she  said,  as  Maggie  rose, 
"  so  you're  here  all  alone.  I  want  a  pound  of 
sugar,  and  a  quarter  of  tea  ;  mother  said  your 
mother  knew  the  sort  she  always  has." 

Maggie  nodded. 

"  Are  you  all  alone  ? "  said  the  child,  "  ain't 
you  dull  ?  It's  a'naost  dark,  and  I  hardly  see 
you  when  I  come  in." 

"  I  must  light  the  gas,  but  I  was  a-thinking, 
Phcebe." 

"  You  seem  dull.  I  always  thought  you  was 
a  merry  girl,  Maggie." 

"  Not  when  you've  got  a  sick  father,"  she 
answered  dolefully. 

"  Is  he  sicker  than  ordinary  ? " 

"  I'm  afraid  so ;  he  was  awful  weak  this 
afternoon,  and  he  did  talk  so  funny." 

"  How,  funny  ? "  asked  Phcebe,  drawing  nearer 
and  laying  her  money  down  on  the  counter. 

"  I  don't  know  'zackly ;  but  I  wish  I  could 
say  something  to  cheer  him." 

"  Don't  yer  mother  cheer  him,  as  you  call  it  ? " 

"Not  she,"  answered  Maggie,  "she's  too 
busy." 


Out  in  the  Storm. 


'•  Can't  you  sing  to  him  some  of  our  school 
things  ?  those  is  cheerful." 

"  I  don't  think  as  he'd  let  me." 

"  Not  read  nothink  to  him,  neither  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"  But  what  ails  him,  Maggie  ? " 

"  He  says 0  Phoebe  !  it  sounded  so  horrid 

he  says,  c  it  is  coming.'  I  can't  think  what 

he  means :  but  his  eyes  looked  afeard-like  when 
he  said  so." 

"  My  granny  is  the  one  to  ask  about  them  sort 
of  things,"  said  Phoebe  with  sympathising  eyes, 
"  and  if  you  can  run  in  after  tea,  I  shall  be  going 
over  there,  and  you  can  ask  her." 

"  Would  she  be  able  to  tell  me  .what  is 
coming  ? " 

"  I  daresay  she  would." 

"  Do  ye  think  she'd  mind  my  troubling  her  ? " 

"  My  granny's  never  troubled  with  nothing." 

"  I'll  come  then.  But,  Phoebe,  here's  your  tea 
and  things ;  will  your  mother  think  ye've  been  a 
long  time  ? " 

"  Not  she  ;  I'll  run  like  lightning." 

As  she  left  the  shop,  Maggie's  mother  called 
to  her  from  the  top  of  the  stairs  to  come  up, 
telling  her  to  fasten  the  bell  to  the  door  before 
she  came. 

Her  father  lay  back  in  his  chair  propped  up 


Phoebe's  Playtime.  1 5 

with  a  pillow,  looking  paler  than  she  had  ever 
seen  him,  and  her  mother  bustled  about  more 
noisily  than  usual. 

After  tea,  finding  that  her  presence  was  not 
required  at  home,  Maggie  slipped  out  to  run 
round  to  Phoebe's  grandmother's. 

Her  light  little  feet  soon  brought  her  to  the 
wide  court,  where,  in  the  last  house,  the  plea- 
santest  and  the  cleanest,  lived  old  Benson  the 
carpenter  and  his  aged  wife. 

Maggie  knocked  with  her  little  knuckles  at  the 
green  door,  and  was  immediately  let  in  by  no  other 
than  Phoebe  herself,  holding  a  pail  in  her  hand. 

"  Why ? "  said  Maggie,  opening  her  eyes 

wide. 

Phcebe  laughed.  "  This  is  my  playtime,"  she 
said. 

Maggie  looked  puzzled.  "  Do  you  do  scrub- 
bing in  your  playtime  ? " 

"  Sometimes ;  at  least,  I  run  round  every  even- 
ing when  the  children  are  in  bed  to  clean  my 
granny's  steps  !  My  father  says  he  can't  bear  to 
see  his  dear  old  mother  doing  it,  and  so  " 

"  You  do  it,  I  'spose." 

"  Yes,  that's  just  it ;  and  it's  the  whitest  step 
in  the  town ;  grandfather  often  says  so." 

"  I  b'lieve  it  is ;  for  I've  noticed  it  afore." 

f:  Well,  come  in,  for  we  shall  make  the  room 


1 6  Out  in  the  Storm. 

cold.     I'll  be  in,  in  a  minute ;  you  go  and  speak 
to  granny." 

She  shut  herself  outside  into  the  cold  darkness, 
where  only  the  street  lamp  gave  its  uncertain 
light,  and  Maggie  advanced  to  old  Mrs.  Benson, 
who  sat  in  her  arm-chair  knitting. 


CHAPTEE    II. 

A  PUZZLE. 

'ELL,  my  dear,  so  you  are  the  little  girl 
who  wants  to  see  me  ?  Come  and 
stand  by  this  bright  blaze  and  warm 
those  cold  little  fingers :  put  one  foot  on  the 
fender — so — and  when  that  is  hot,  change  over 
to  the  other !  That  is  what  I  say  to  my  grand- 
children ;  and  see  if  you  don't  find  out  I'm 
right." 

Maggie  looked  in  the  gentle  face  and  began 
to  feel  a  little  bit  at  home,  especially  when  the 
warmth  began  to  creep  through  her  chilled  little 
frame. 

Mrs.  Benson  rose,  and  busied  herself  about  the 
room  for  a  few  minutes,  so  Maggie  had  time  to 
look  about  her. 

At  the  other  end  was  a  bench,  with  chips  and 
shavings  lying  about,  though  the  carpenter  him- 
self was  not  there.  A  jet  of  gas,  turned  very 


1 8  Out  in  the  Storm. 

low,  made  Maggie  guess  that  he  was  expected 
back  again. 

Across  the  window,  behind  some  pretty  plants, 
a  short  red  curtain  was  drawn,  shutting  out  the 
cold  and  seeming  to  keep  in  the  warmth,  while 
the  whole  room  was  cleaner  and  more  comfort- 
able than  anything  she  had  ever  seen. 

As  her  eyes  came  back  to  the  fire,  so  did  the 
old  woman,  taking  her  seat  by  it,  and  laying  her 
thin  hand  on  the  child's  shoulder  with  an  in- 
quiring look. 

Just  then  Phoebe  entered  and  went  across  to 
a  green  door  at  the  other  side  of  the  room  with 
her  pail,  coming  back  in  a  moment  to  say  with 
a  pretty  gentle  little  look,  "  Shall  I  be  in  the 
way  of  yer  talking,  Maggie  ?  because,  if  so,  I'll 
run  home  now." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  answered  Maggie. 

"  And  what  is  it,  my  dear  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Ben- 
son, "  is  your  father  so  ill,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Maggie,  her  lip  trembling. 

"And  you  hardly  know  what  to  do  for  him, 
or  how  to  make  his  pain  better  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  as  it's  his  pain.  It's  because 
he  seems  so  down-like,  and  will  not  be  comforted 
by  nothing  we  can  do." 

"  How,  dear  ?  " 

"  He  says  '  it's  coming,  and  he  knew  it  would,' 


A  Puzzle.  19 

and  you  know,  ma'am,  I  can't  make  out  what  he 
means  ;  Phoebe  said  you'd  know." 

Mrs.  Benson  was  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
then  she  said — 

"  Do  you  think  he  would  like  me  to  come  and 
see  him  ? " 

But  Maggie  hastily  interrupted.  "  Oh  no, 
ma'am,  I'm  sure  as  he  wouldn't,  for  he  told 
mother  never  to  let  none  of  them  visiting  ladies 
come  upstairs  messing  round  him." 

"  But  they're  very  kind,"  remarked  Phcebe. 

"  So  they  may  be,"  answered  Maggie  decidedly, 
"  but  that's  no  difference  to  my  father,  he  never 
will  see  no  one." 

"Ah,  well,  never  mind,  Maggie,"  said  the  old 
woman,  "  you  will  do  as  well,  I  daresay." 

"  /  ?  Why,  whatever  could  I  do  ?  Father 
never  talks  to  me,  you  know,  if  you  mean  talking 
sort  of  comfort." 

"  There's  a  better  sort  of  comfort  than  '  talk- 
ing-comfort,' and  perhaps  you  know  it  ? " 

Maggie  shook  her  head. 

"  Can  you  read,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes — at  least,  pretty  well ;  I'm  twelve,  you 
know,  but  I'm  very  slow  at  learning." 

"And  I  daresay  you  have  got  a  Bible  at 
home ;  haven't  you  ?  " 

"I   don't    think  so.     Oh  yes,   we  have;  the 


2O  Out  in  the  Storm. 

best  big  one  that's  not  meant  to  be  read,  you 
know." 

"Do  you  think  you  might  have  that  one  out 
for  a  treat  ? " 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Maggie,  opening  her  dark 
eyes  very  wide  again. 

"  To  read  to  poor  father  in." 

«  Oh ! " 

"  He'd  enjoy  that,"  put  in  Phoebe,  "  'cause  my 
father  does." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  sorrowfully; 
"  it  ain't  likely  he  will,  for  he  can't  bear  a  word 
sometimes." 

"  You  try  it,  dear.  Get  the  big  Bible  up  very 
quietly,  and  when  you  see  a  good  opportunity, 
ask  him  if  you  might  read  a  verse  to  him;  and 
then  if  he  seems  quiet  and  comfortable,  you  go 
on  till  he  tells  you  to  stop." 

"  But  where  should  I  read  ?  Should  I  begin 
at  the  other  end  and  go  straight  on  ? " 

Mrs.  Benson  looked  puzzled.  "  Don't  you 
ever  read  at  school  ?  "  she  asked  presently,  "  so 
as  to  find  the  places  ? " 

"  Sometimes  we  do,  but  I  ain't  no  hand  at 
it. 

"  Could  you  find  Luke,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  I  might  if  I  was  to  look  very  hard." 

Phcebe  turned   to   the   table,  and   sprang  up. 


A  Puzzle.  21 

There  lay  her  grandmother's  Bible  as  usual,  its 
pages  open  now  with  the  silver  spectacles  lying 
across  them. 

"  Try  to  find  Luke  here,  Maggie,  and  then  you 
would  know  at  home  ! " 

The  child  timidly  advanced  to  the  table  and 
turned  over  the  leaves  nervously. 

At  last  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  I  don't 
know,  and  I  can't  do  it ;  it  ain't  no  use  to  think 
such  as  me  could  comfort  father." 

"  Don't  despair,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Benson 
kindly.  "  I'll  tell  you  how  to  do  it.  Look  here. 
Luke  is  somewhere  near  the  end.  Turn  over  all 
those  pages,  and  leave  about  a  quarter  of  them. 
Yes,  that  will  do.  Now  what  is  the  word  up  at 
the  top  ? " 

"  John,"  answered  Maggie. 

"That  is  capital.  Why,  Luke  is  the  next 
before  it.  Try  again." 

Maggie  turned  back  a  few  leaves,  but  she  turned 
too  many,  for  she  spelt  out  "  M-A-T-T-H-E-W." 

"  It  is  next  but  one  to  that,"  whispered 
Phoebe  encouragingly ;  "  turn  over  leaf  by  leaf." 

"  Here  it  is ! "  exclaimed  Maggie. 

"  She's  found  it,  granny  f "  said  Phoebe  trium- 
phantly. 

"Now  turn  over  a  page  at  a  time,  till  you 
come  to  the  I5th  chapter.  Do  you  know 


22  Out  in  the  Storm. 

the  look  of  15  in  the  Bible  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Benson. 

"  ]STo,  I'm  afeared  not." 

"  It  is  like  a  10  on  the  clock,  and  a  5 — X  and 
V  close  together.  Now  try  again." 

The  little  girls  bent  their  heads  over  the 
book,  Phoebe  watching  with  intense  interest  for 
the  finding  of  the  figures  which  she  knew  so 
well. 

"Here  it  is,"  again  said  Maggie,  and  then 
Phoebe  kissed  her  for  delight,  though  she  was 
surprised  at  herself  for  doing  it. 

"  You  read  that  to  him,  dear,  and  depend  upon 
it  that  will  comfort  him.  There's  no  comfort  in 
the  world  like  the  love  of  Jesus." 

Maggie  rose  and  began  to  put  on  her  jacket  in 
silence,  her  little  heart  full  of  new  thoughts. 

"  I'll  come  part  of  the  way  home  with  you," 
said  Phoebe. 

"  But  'spose  I  might  never  find  that  er-e  place 
again  ? " 

"  I  should  turn  over  every  page  till  I  did," 
answered  Phoebe,  "and  put  a  bit  of  paper  in 
when  I  found  it.  Eemember  it's  near  about 
three  quarters  through  the  book ! " 


CHAPTEE    III. 
MAGGIE'S    QUEST. 


HERE  have  you  been,  child,  all  this 
time  ? "  asked  Maggie's  mother  the 
moment  she  entered  the  little  shop. 

"  I've  been  round  along  with  Phoebe  Benson, 
mother." 

"  What  did  you  want  with  her  ? " 

"  She  said  as  her  granny  knew  something  to 
do  father  good." 

"  It's  not  likely  she  does,  for  there's  nothing 
now  as  'ull  do  him  any  good." 

"  0  mother  ! " 

"  No  more  there  isn't.  Wasn't  the  doctor 
here  only  five  minutes  ago,  and  didn't  he  say,  as 
plain  as  plain,  '  I  can't  do  nothing  more  for  your 
husband,  Mrs.  Moder;  medicine  don't  take  no 
effect  on  him,  whatever.'  " 

Maggie  was  silent.  She  had  a  feeling  that  old 
Mrs.  Benson's  prescription  was  something  of  quite 


24  Out  in  the  Storm. 

another  kind;  but  she  had  not  been  used  to  express 
her  thoughts  to  her  mother,  and  knew  that,  if 
she  were  to  mention  the  big  Bible,  it  would  only 
be  to  get  a  hasty  command  not  to  touch  it.  So 
she  was  silent,  wondering  with  a  sort  of  sicken- 
ing fear  what  it  all  meant. 

"  Go  up  to  bed,"  said  her  mother,  "  you  look 
more  like  a  ghost  than  anything  else.  What's 
the  use  of  shivering  like  that?  any  one  with  a  pair 
of  eyes  could  ha'  seen  it  coming  this  long  time!" 

Maggie  turned  to  the  door  of  the  narrow  pas- 
sage leading  upstairs,  her  knees  shaking  together 
in  her  fear.  She  slowly  mounted  the  dark  stairs, 
till  she  came  to  her  father's  room,  then  she  hesi- 
tated, and  was  finally  deciding  to  pass  on  to  her 
own  little  attic,  when  she  caught  the  sound  of 
his  voice  uttering  that  mournful  groan  of  mingled 
pain,  weariness,  and  despair. 

Maggie  was  not  a  particularly  observant  little 
girl,  and  many  things  that  she  might  have  noticed 
in  the  months  that  were  gone,  had  passed  by  her 
as  if  they  were  not ;  but  once  roused  from  the 
sort  of  apathetic  dream  she  had  been  living  in, 
she  was  beginning  to  see  the  meaning  of  what 
she  had  before  taken  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
in  finding  it  out  she  woke  up  to  know  that 
something  was  the  matter,  something  very  dread- 
ful and  sad. 


Maggie  s  Quest.  25 

So,  unable  to  bear  the  sound  that  came  from 
her  sick  father,  she  entered  to  see  if  she  might 
do  anything  for  him. 

He  was  sitting  in  bed  now,  propped  up  by  pil- 
lows, his  breath  coming  in  painful  gasps,  and  his 
whole  frame  shaken  by  his  cough.  As  the  door 
opened  his  eyes  turned  in  that  direction,  and  he 
beckoned  Maggie  to  his  side.  But  when  she  got 
there  he  could  not  speak,  and  she  stood 
waiting. 

"  Maggie,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  hoarse  whisper, 
"  where  have  you  been  ?  I've  been  wanting  you 
for  ever  so  long." 

Maggie's  heart  leapt  with  a  sudden  new  happi- 
ness. She  had  never  been  wanted  before. 

"  I  didn't  know,  father,"  she  said,  looking  up 
at  him,  with  some  of  her  feeling  in  her  eyes. 

"  It's  so  lonely,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head 
drearily,  "  so  lonely  and  so  dark." 

"  What  is  dark,  father  ?  "  asked  Maggie,  trem- 
bling. 

"  Where  I'm  going — so  dark,  oh  so  lonely ! " 

"  Could  I  go  with  you,  father  ? "  said  the  child, 
with  a  certain  suspicion  of  what  the  answer 
would  be. 

"  No,  no,  no ;  nobody  can't  do  that,  Maggie." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  looked 
with  his  large  yearning  eyes  into  her  eyes. 


26  Out  in  the  Storm. 

"It's  no  use,"  he  said  at  last,  "it's  no  use; 
lay  me  back,  Maggie;  I'll  try  to  get  some 
sleep." 

Maggie  did  as  she  was  bid,  for  the  sick  man 
to  take  the  only  kind  of  rest  he  had  done  for 
many  a  weary  month ;  she  dragged  him  a  little 
lower  in  the  bed,  and  then  with  hands  which 
had  a  new  confidence  in  them,  a  confidence  of 
love,  she  straightened  the  bedclothes,  watching 
the  haggard  face  closely  for  any  sign  that  her 
ministrations  distressed  the  invalid.  He  bore  it 
with  unusual  patience,  but  at  last  he  said — 

"  Leave  that  alone  now,  child,  I  don't  care  for 
any  more  moving." 

"  May  I  stay  along  with  you,  father  ?  "  asked 
Maggie  wistfully. 

"  Ay,  ay,  I'd  rather  have  you  than  not.  It 
comforts  me  to  see  you  there." 

Maggie  did  not  know  what  to  answer,  but  she 
ventured  to  put  her  hand  into  his  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life. 

After  she  had  stood  for  a  few  minutes  thus, 
with  her  father's  restless  eyes  roving  about  the 
room,  when  he  moved  his  hand  hastily  away,  she 
ventured  to  say — 

"  Might  I  fetch  something  from  downstairs  ?  " 

He  nodded,  and  Maggie  hastened  to  the  dark 
little  parlour  behind  the  shop. 


Maggies  Quest.  27 

Her  mother  heard  her  step  on  the  stairs,  and 
looked  out  of  the  door  leading  into  the  passage. 

"  What  ails  you,  Maggie  ?  "  she  asked  in  a 
vexed  tone  ;  "  how  you  did  startle  me  ! " 

"  Father  said  as  I  might  sit  with  him  a  bit," 
said  Maggie,  trembling  lest  she  should  get  a 
refusal. 

"  What's  he  a-doing  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 

"He's  trying  to  get  some  sleep." 

"  Oh,  he  is,  is  he  ?  Then,  Maggie,  if  you're 
not  agoing  to  bed  jest  yet,  you  listen  to  the  shop 
while  I  run  round  to  a  neighbour's  for  something. 
I  shan't  be  long." 

"  All  right,  mother." 

"What  are  you  awanting  in  there?"  called  Mrs. 
Moder  from  the  shop,  where  she  was  locking  up 
the  little  till. 

There  was  a  glass  door  between  the  parlour 
and  the  shop,  and  the  light  shining  over  the 
green  blind  helped  Maggie  to  see  well  enough 
for  her  purpose ;  she  grasped  the  big  book  in 
both  hands  before  she  answered,  "  I'm  finding 
something,  mother." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Moder. 

"  I've  got  it  now,"  gasped  Maggie,  springing 
out  of  the  side  door  and  up  the  stairs. 

Maggie  was  not  a  very  dutiful  little  daughter, 
and  did  not  trouble  to  explain  to  her  mother; 


28  Out  in  the  Storm, 

only  glad  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  her  hasty 
words ;  she  had  never  been  taught  better. 

She  left  the  bedroom  door  ajar,  and  went  over 
and  sat  down  by  the  fire,  laying  the  great  book 
on  the  small  table  as  noiselessly  as  she  could. 

Her  father's  eyes  were  closed,  and  she  had 
time  therefore  to  try  to  remember  her  lesson 
before  he  should  awake. 

She  had  passed  through  so  many  experiences 
during  the  last  hour  that  it  felt  quite  a  long 
time  ago  since  Phoebe  had  flung  her  arms  round 
her  neck  when  she  had  found  that  place,  and 
she  began  to  doubt  if  she  could  recall  anything 
at  all  about  it.  She  sat  with  her  head  resting 
on  her  hand,  trying  to  think. 

At  last  Phoebe's  parting  words  flashed  over 
her,  "  Three  quarters  through  the  book,"  and  she 
slowly  stooped  her  head  to  have  a  look  at  the 
leaves. 

She  fixed  on  a  suitable  spot  and  put  her 
finger  in,  and  then  with  trembling  heart  she 
opened  the  heavy  pages.  The  great  leaves  nearly 
flapped  back  with  a  bang,  but  she  caught  them 
just  in  time,  and  laid  the  book  open  before  her — 
that  wonderful  book  in  which  is  written  the 
message  to  us  of  the  King  of  kings. 

Maggie  had  had  a  school  Bible  in  her  hand 
many  and  many  a  time  as  a  task  book,  which 


Maggie's  Quest.  29 

no  one  had  explained  to  her,  and  it'  she  had 
spoken  her  thoughts  truly,  she  would  probably 
have  said  that  of  all  her  tasks  it  was  the  least 
interesting.  But  now,  this  opening  of  the  great 
Bible  was  quite  a  different  thing.  It  did  not  even 
occur  to  her  that  it  was  the  same  book  at  all,  as 
that  school  task.  Here  was  something  which 
she  was  told  would  do  her  father  good — something 
that  would  comfort  him,  above  all  other  comforts 
— and  Maggie  gazed  upon  the  open  page  with 
awe. 

Fortunately  for  her,  the  very  name  she  wanted 
was  printed  at  the  top.  There  was  Luke  as  plain 
as  possible.  If  it  had  not  been,  Maggie  very 
much  doubted  if  she  could  ever  have  found  it, 
for  she  remembered  nothing  but  that  one 
sentence,  "three  quarters  through  the  book," 
which  she  had  said  over  and  over  to  herself 
all  the  way  home. 

She  turned  over  the  leaves  in  an  uncertain 
kind  of  way,  dimly  remembering  something  about 
the  clock,  but  sure  that  it  was  not  any  figure 
on  the  face  of  theirs. 

She  turned  round  and  scanned  the  little 
American  clock  which  ticked  on  the  mantel-shelf, 
but  she  scanned  it  in  vain,  for  no  clue  did  it  give. 

At  last  she  decided  to  read  the  figures  carefully 
all  round,  and  wh.en  she  came  to  the  X  she 


Out  in  the  Storm, 


started  with  a  new  thought.  That  was  it! 
and — and — half  ten — didn't  they  say  ?  five  !  yes 
to  be  sure,  15 — X  and  V  close  together.  She 
turned  over  the  pages  breathlessly,  hoping  and 
fearing  alternately. 

Then  a  light  broke  over  her  little  face  and  at 
the  same  moment  her  father's  voice  startled  her 
by  his  weak  hoarse  whisper — 

"What  is  it,  child?" 

Maggie  had  hoped  to  have  time  to  look  it  over 
and  get  familiar  with  it  before  she  should  be 
asked  to  read  it ;  but  the  time  had  come  before 
she  expected,  and  instead  of 'answering  with  any 
explanations,  something  prompted  her  to  begin 
reading  at  once — 

"  Then  drew  near  unto  Him  all  the  publicans 
and  sinners  for  to  hear  Him.  And  the  Pharisees 
and  Scribes  murmured,  saying,  This  man  re- 
ceiveth  sinners  and  eateth  with  them." 

Slowly  Maggie  read  out  the  words,  struggling 
through  the  long  ones  bravely;  and  while  she  spelt 
to  herself  and  hesitated,  her  father  had  time  to 
take  in  the  meaning,  as  he  would  perhaps  not  have 
done  had  they  been  read  more  fluently. 

"  This  man  receiveth  sinners,  and  eateth  with 
them,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  wondering, 
thirsting  yearning  that  he  could  see  that  Man 
and  understand  all  about  Him. 


Maggie  s  Quest. 


Maggie  read  a  few  more  verses,  and  then  her 
father  stopped  her. 

"  That  'ull  do,  child,"  he  said,  more  softly  than 
she  had  ever  heard  him  speak  before ;  "  to-morrow 
you  shall  read  some  more." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Eeceiveth  sinners,"  he  murmured  low  to 
himself. 

"  What  d'ye  say,  father  ?  " 

"  I  was  a-thinking  of  them  words  you  read, 
'receiveth  sinners.'  Does  it  say  who  does,  Mag- 
gie  ?  " 

Maggie  looked  on  the  book  again — 

•"  No,  it  don't  say  who,  father ;  but  I  can  look 
about  for  it,  if  ye  like." 

"  I  expect  who  it  is,  as  I've  heard  on.  But, 
anyway,  you  can  see." 

There  was  a  pause;  Maggie's  eyes  went  up 
and  down  the  big  open  page,  but  she  could  not 
light  on  any  name  to  satisfy  her. 

"  I  don't  see  none,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  it  is  all 
about  Him,  whoever  it  is,  father ;  for  it  keeps  on 
'He,'  all  the  time.  There's  no  one  but  Him 
spoke  of  hardly." 

"  I  daresay  we'll  come  across  it  to-morrow," 
whispered  the  invalid  with  a  sigh. 

But  Maggie's  own  words  had  started  a  train 
of  thought  in  her  mind.  Mrs.  Benson's  had 


Out  in  the  Storm. 


matched   them.      "ISTo   one  but   Him,"   Maggie 

had  said,  and    Mrs.     Benson  had    assured  her 

"  there  was  no  one  like  Jesus !  " 

"  I  'spect  it's  Jesus  it  means,  father." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he  answered,  closing  his 

eyes  wearily. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A  PROMISE. 

HE  next  morning  Maggie  asked  her 
mother  if  she  might  remain  at  home 
from  school. 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Moder. 

"  To  stay  along  with  father." 

"  Stay  long  with  father !    Whatever  for  ? " 

"  I  thought  —  I  thought  perhaps  he'd  want 
me." 

"  Want  you  ?  Nonsense.  Bundle  on  yer 
clothes  and  be  off  this  minute." 

Maggie  knew  better  than  to  object.  She  would 
have  liked  just  to  have  said  goodbye  to  her  father, 
but  Mrs.  Moder  held  the  shop-door  in  her  hand, 
and  she  had  no  choice  but  to  go  out.  Her  heart 
was  heavy,  for  while  they  had  sat  at  breakfast 
in  the  invalid's  room,  where  they  generally  had 


34  Out  in  the  Storm. 

their  meals  since  he  had  been  too  weak  to  come 
down  stairs,  she  had  noticed  his  eyes  looking  to- 
wards the  corner  where  she  had  put  the  book 
away,  as  if  he  fain  would  hear  more  of  it. 

But  Maggie  went  to  school,  and,  like  the  rest, 
took  her  place  and  began  the  morning's  work. 
She  was  not  a  bright  child,  or  an  industrious 
child,  and  she  was  no  favourite  with  her  teachers. 
She  did  not  behave  very  badly,  nor  very  well ; 
but  she  just  rubbed  along  day  after  day,  hoping 
to  get  as  few  punishments  as  possible,  her  object 
in  life  being  to  escape  notice  altogether. 

To-day,  as  she  sat  in  class,  a  thought  struck 
her,  a  thought  so  sweet  that  it  lighted  up  her 
face.  What  if  she  could  learn  to  find  those 
places  in  the  Book  that  were  to  comfort  her 
father  ! 

So  when  the  Scripture  task  came  and  her 
companions  stood  up,  one  after  another,  and  said, 
in  sing-song  voices,  "  The  eleventh  chapter  of 
Matthew  and  the  28th  verse,  '  Come  unto  me, 
all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest/ "  the  words  took  a  new 
meaning,  and  she  listened  with  all  her  heart. 
"  I  will  give  you  rest."  Ah  !  that  was  what  her 
poor  weak  father  wanted — rest — rest.  She  de- 
termined to  look  out  for  those  new  words,  and  see 
if  they  might  prove  just  what  she  wanted. 


A  Promise.  35 

She  stored  up  in  her  mind  the  place,  only 
hoping  she  might  remember  it  when  she  got 
home. 

After  school,  Phoebe  Benson  came  up  to  her 
and  said  softly,  "  Did  you  find  it  ? " 

Maggie  nodded. 

"  Did  he  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  quite  know." 

Phoebe's  countenance  fell. 

"  I  think  he  did,  though,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Is  he  better  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Maggie  sighed ;  "  I  must 
run  home  now,  Phoebe." 

Phoebe  looked  after  her  for  a  minute  thought- 
fully, and  then  turned  towards  her  own  street. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Moder  had  been  tidying  up 
her  husband's  room  during  the  intervals  of  being 
wanted  in  the  shop.  As  she  was  dusting,  her 
quick  eyes  fell  upon  the  large  Bible  which  Maggie 
had  so  cautiously  hidden  away  in  the  corner 
under  a  new  dress  her  mother  was  making  for 
her. 

"  What's  this  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Moder  sharply. 

"  Don't  you  see,  wife  ?  "  answered  the  invalid. 

"  What's  brought  it  up  here  ?  " 

Her  husband  was  silent. 

"  Who  had  it  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Maggie  and  me." 


Out  in  the  Storm. 


"  You  ?  It's  likely  you  have  been  down  to 
fetch  it." 

"  I  never  said  that,  wife." 

"  You  said  —  but  how  dare  Maggie  touch 
it?" 

"  There's  no  harm  in  her  having  it." 

"  No  harm  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Moder  ;  "  I 
should  like  to  see  her  touch  it  again,  that's 
all." 

"  Then  you  will,"  answered  her  husband 
quietly ;  "  for  I  mean  her  to  have  it  whenever 
she  likes." 

"  If  she  wants  reading,  she  must  have  it  in 
something  different  from  our  best  big  Bible  !  " 
answered  Mrs.  Moder  decidedly,  taking  the  book 
up  and  walking  downstairs  with  it. 

Her  husband's  eyes  followed  her  with  an 
angry  light  in  them,  but  a  violent  fit  of  cough- 
ing stopped  the  words  he  was  attempting  to 
utter,  and  continued  so  long  that  when  she  came 
up  again  he  had  no  strength  or  will  left  to 
speak. 

She  walked  swiftly  into  the  room,  placed  his 
water  near  him,  and  then,  as  if  his  attack  had 
no  connection  with  her  in  any  way,  she  quietly 
went  on  with  her  dusting  in  silence. 

"  Will  you  get  up  ? "  she  presently  asked 
him. 


A  Promise.  37 

A  slight  shake  of  the  head  was  his  only 
reply. 

Just  then  the  shop  bell  rang,  and  she  was 
called  away,  and  did  not  return  till  it  was  nearly 
time  for  Maggie  to  come  in  from  school. 

Her  husband  looked  worse  than  ever,  she 
thought,  when  she  put  her  head  in  at  the  door, 
but  after  a  hasty  inquiry  to  know  if  he  wanted 
her,  she  went  down  again. 

Maggie  came  bounding  into  the  shop,  and  was 
running  through,  when  she  was  arrested  by  her 
mother's  words. 

"Maggie,  take  along  that  soap  and  those 
matches  and  things  to  Mrs.  Craggs  over  the  hill 
at  the  other  end  of  the  town.  Tell  her  I  knew 
she  must  be  getting  out  of  them,  and  so  I  sent 
'em  along.  Tell  her  it  don't  matter  about  paying 
to-day,  if  she  ain't  ready." 

"  But,  mother ?  " 

"  Be  off  as  quick  as  you  can  ;  you'll  be  back 
in  plenty  of  time  for  dinner,  if  you  make 
haste." 

"  But — oh,  mother,  I  wanted  to  see  how  father 
was." 

"  He's  all  right  ;  don't  worry  yourself — and 
look  here,  Maggie,  I'll  not  have  that  best  Bible 
carried  about  the  house  and  messed  up  with  your 
nonsense." 


38  'Out  in  the  Storm. 

The  child  stood  confounded.  All  her  plans 
were  dashed  to  the  ground  hopelessly,  and 
comforting  her  father  went  down,  down,  down 
with  them. 

She  turned  to  the  door  without  another  word, 
taking  up  the  basket  and  proceeding  slowly  on 
her  way.  It  was  a  long  walk,  and  old  Mrs. 
Craggs  would  perhaps  keep  her  a  long  time. 
She  could  hardly  see  her  way  through  blinding 
tears. 

It  was  ever  so  much  past  one  before  she  again 
entered  her  home.  The  shop  was  empty,  and 
she  mounted  the  stairs  feeling  strangely  weary 
and  forlorn. 

A  nice  smell  greeted  her,  and  when  she  came 
into  the  room  her  father  had  his  plate  with  a 
savoury  morsel  before  him,  while  her  mother 
was  eating  her  dinner  at  the  table. 

"  Here,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Moder,  "  come  and 
take  yours." 

Maggie  glanced  in  her  father's  face.  It  was 
very  pale,  and  he  seemed  to  be  only  picking  at 
the  food  before  him. 

She  went  timidly  to  his  side,  and  was  just 
going  to  ask  him  if  she  might  help  him,  when  a 
hasty  call  from  her  mother  stopped  her.  She 
turned  to  the  table  then,  and  began  her  own 
meal. 


A  Promise.  39 

The  moment  it  was  swallowed  she  had  to 
hasten  off  to  school  again,  and  so  the  day  passed 
on. 

The  light  had  faded  out  of  her  face  as  she  sat 
doing  her  sewing  that  afternoon,  and  Phoebe 
wondered  how  it  was  she  looked  so  woe-begone. 

Poor  little  Maggie  did  not  know  that  there  was 
a  loving  Father  watching  over  her,  and  planning 
after  all,  the  best  way  for  her  to  comfort  her 
father.  She  thought  it  was  all  over,  when  really 
it  was  only  just  begun. 

When  the  evening  came,  Mrs.  Moder  told 
Maggie  to  mind  the  shop  and  see  after  her  father, 
as  she  wanted  to  go  out  for  an  hour.  Maggie 
joyfully  assented,  and  went  down  to  sit  behind 
the  counter  till  her  mother  should  go. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  to  her  impatience  before 
she  came  down,  but  at  length  she  appeared,  and 
after  giving  Maggie  some  parting  instructions, 
she  banged  the  shop-door  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

COMB. 

AGGIE  quickly  hung  the  bell  on  its  place, 
and  after  giving  a  glance  round,  she 
ran  upstairs. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  here  I  am." 

He  looked  up  with  a  pleased  look,  while 
Maggie  came  over  and  stood  by  his  side. 

His  wife  had  helped  him  across  to  the  fire 
just  before  tea,  and  he  sat  now  grasping  the 
arms  of  his  chair,  supporting  his  weak  frame  as 
best  he  might. 

Maggie's  eyes  sought  the  corner  where  she 
knew  she  had  hidden  the  Bible,  and  she  soon  be- 
came aware  that  her  dress,  under  which  she  had 
placed  it,  looked  far  too  flat. 

"Father,"  she  said  beseechingly,  "what  has 
mother  done  with  it  ? " 

"  Maybe  she  has  put  it  away." 

"  She  told  me  I  was  not  to  touch  it  again  ; 


Come.  4 1 

but — I  may,  mayn't  I  ?  'cause  you  know  we  did 
count  on  reading  it  to-day ! " 

The  poor  sick  man  sighed  heavily.  "  I'll  not 
be  the  one  to  tell  you  to  disobey  your  mother, 
child,"  he  said,  "so  we'll  just  have  to  do  without  it." 

"  Never  have  it,  father  ? " 

"  I'll  settle  that." 

Maggie  was  partly  reassured,  but  her  little 
heart  was  full  of  disappointment ;  for  the  present 
was  much  more  important  than  the  future,  and 
her  father's  face  made  her  long  that  she  might 
give  him  all  the  solace  possible.  For  what,  if 
that  should  come  which  was  coming,  and  he 
should  never  be  comforted  after  all  ? 

So  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  as  she  gazed 
into  the  haggard  face.  What  could  she  do  for 
him  ? 

Then  her  school  lesson  came  back  to  her  mind, 
and  she  suddenly  recalled  the  words  she  had 
tried  with  such  pains  to  remember,  and  which 
she  that  morning  thought  she  would  never  more 
forget. 

"  Don't  you  learn  some  of  that  at  school  ? " 
asked  her  father. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  am  no  hand  at 
it ;  I  wish  I  was  now,  father." 

"  Can't  you  call  to  mind  any  of  it  ? "  sighed 
the  sick  man. 


42  Out  in  the  Storm. 

"  Well,  this  morning,  father,  there  was  some- 
thing which  would  just  have  suited  you,  but  I 
can't  remember  one  word  of  it ! " 

"  Was  it  about — like  that  you  read  last  night 
— about  sinners  ? " 

Maggie  shook  her  head.  "  No,  it  didn't  say 
nothing  about  sinners.  It  was  about  tired 
people." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  tired  enough.  What  did  it 
say  about  them,  Maggie  ? " 

Maggie  looked  into  the  fire  in  deep  thought, 
but  she  could  not  get  hold  of  the  idea. 

"Then  it  was  not  about  receiving  sinners," 
said  the  poor  man  longingly. 

Maggie  looked  up,  a  sudden  light  in  her  eyes, 
"  Why,  yes,  father,  it  was  that  sort  of  thing ; 
I've  got  it  now — '  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that 
labour  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest.' " 

The  sick  man  was  silent,  pondering  on  the 
words,  while  Maggie  stroked  his  hand  with  her 
little  fingers  lovingly. 

"  Does  it  feel  comfortable,  father  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Is  that  the  sort  of  medicine  as  '11  do  you 
good  ? " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder.  But  now,  Maggie,  who 
do  you  think  said  them  words  ? " 


Come.  4  3 

"  It  didn't  tell  that  in  my  lesson  ;  but  I  'spect 
it's  the  same  as  says  all  them  sort  of  things. 
There's  more  of  it,  only  I  don't  know  it." 

"  I  wish  you  did." 

"  Shall  I  say  it  over  again,  father  ?  " 

"  Very  well.     Say  it  slow  and  plain,  Maggie." 

Maggie  said  it  very  distinctly,  and  her  father 
gazed  into  the  fire. 

"  As  you've  read  all  of  it,"  he  said  presently, 
"  what  d'ye  suppose  it  means  ? " 

"  I  should  think  as  it's  like  promising  me  a 
penny  if" — Maggie  paused — "if  I  did  as  you 
tolled  me." 

"  Does  He  tell  us  to  do  anything  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  father,  He  says,  '  Come  to 
Me.' " 

"  So  He  does,  Maggie.  And  so,  if  we  come, 
how  does  it  go  on  ? " 

Maggie  said  it  again,  ending  up  with  those 
words,  "  I  will  give  you  rest." 

"  How  can  we  come  ? "  said  the  sick  man. 

"  Why  I  just  get  up  and  go  to  people ! "  said 
Maggie. 

"  But  that  ain't  the  way  people  go  to  Jesus," 
answered  her  father;  "  and  besides,  if  it  were  ever 
so,  I  can't  move." 

"  Then  it  must  mean  some  other  way,"  said 
Maggie  confidently,  "for  I  know  I've  said  it 


44  Out  in  the  Storm. 

right.  Perhaps  it's  the  way  as  they  do  when  I 
go  to  chapel,  father." 

The  sick  man  sighed.  It  was  years,  years, 
since  he  had  gone  to  any  place  of  worship,  and 
he  could  not  recall  anything  to  give  him  the 
clue. 

"  They  speak  to  some  one  in  heaven,  don't  they, 
father  ? " 

"  It's  what  they  call  praying ;  and  I  have  never 
prayed  since  I  was  a  little  boy !  " 

Maggie  came  close  to  him,  and  knelt  down  by 
his  side,  laying  her  face  on  his  trembling  hand. 
After  a  long  silence  her  father's  other  hand  was 
placed  on  her  head,  and  his  broken  voice  whis- 
pered— 

"  Lord  Jesus,  we  don't  know  anything  as  we 
ought  about  you,  nor  how  to  come  to  you.  We 
don't  even  know  the  way  to  come.  But  oh,  we 
are  so  tired,  so  heavy  laden,  please  give  us  rest ! 
And  if  it's  you  as  receives  sinners,  please  do  re- 
ceive us ;  for  it's  very  dark  on  before,  and  we'd 
like  to  know  as  you  were  there." 

Maggie  was  sobbing  long  before  her  poor 
father  got  to  the  end  of  that  simple  prayer,  and 
her  whole  heart  went  up  with  a  great  longing 
that  it  might  be  answered. 

She  raised  her  head  and  laid  it  on  his  breast, 
while  his  arms  closed  round  her  little  form.  By 


Come.  45 

and  by  she  ventured  to  look  up  in  his  face,  and 
to  her  surprise  there  was  a  quiet  peace  in  it  such 
as  she  had  never  seen  before. 

He  looked  down  on  her  with  an  answering 
glance  and  whispered — 

"We've  done  what  He's  told  us,  Maggie,  and 
now  we'll  expect  Him  to  keep  His  promise." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"I  feel  it,  Maggie,  as  I  never  did  'afore — rest, 
rest,  '  I  will  give  you  rest' " 

He  looked  round  the  room,  "  Maggie,  help  me 
to  the  bed,  child,  I'll  lie  down  a  bit;  and  you  make 
up  the  fire  and  put  all  things  straight  for  your 
mother." 

Maggie  longed  to  ask  if  he  would  settle  about 
the  Bible  to-night,  but  she  had  a  feeling  that  she 
must  not  disturb  that  "  rest "  of  which  he  had 
spoken.  So  she  tenderly  helped  him  across  the 
room,  and  had  hardly  done  so  when  the  shop 
bell  gave  a  peal,  and  she  had  to  hasten  down- 
stairs. 

It  was  not  her  mother,  as  she  had  expected, 
but  to  her  surprise  old  Mrs.  Benson  stood  there. 

"  May  I  come  in,  dear  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Maggie,  wondering. 

"  I've  not  come  to  buy  anything  to-night,  my 
dear ;  I've  only  come  to  ask  how  father  is,  and 
to  brins  him  this  little  mould  of  corn  flour." 


46  Out  in  the  Storm. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Maggie  grate- 
fully. 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Benson. 

"  I'm  afraid  as  he's  very  bad,  ma'am,"  said  the 
child  sorrowfully. 

"  Do  you  read  to  him,  dear,  and  tell  him  about 
Jesus  ? " 

Maggie's  eyes  filled.  "  I  don't  rightly  know 
myself,  ma'am,  but  I  do  try  to,  and  he  does  like  it." 

"  That's  right,  dear ;  you  go  on  reading  to  him, 
and  you  pray  yourself  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  to  teach 
you  what  to  do.  Good  night.  If  I  can  ever  do 
anything,  I'm  ready,  remember." 

As  she  went  out,  Maggie's  mother  came  in. 

"  What  did  she  buy  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing." 

"  Came  to  gossip  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Moder  sharply. 

"  She  brought  this  stuff  for  father." 

"  Umph,  well,  I  daresay  he'll  like  it.  Now, 
off  you  go  to  bed,  Maggie." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 

HEY  went  upstairs  together,  Maggie 
going  on  tip-toe  into  the  room,  her 
mother  following. 

The  sick  man  was  asleep,  and  Mrs.  Moder 
motioned  to  the  child  to  pass  on  at  once  to  bed. 

She  herself  went  and  sat  down  by  the  fire, 
busying  herself  over  Maggie's  dress  for  some 
time.  She  was  a  thrifty  woman,  who  made  the 
best  of  her  money,  keeping  her  home  and  one 
child  the  pink  of  neatness.  Her  shop  of  odds 
and  ends,  groceries,  thimbles,  and  firewood, 
added  to  her  husband's  trade  of  a  tailor  and  her 
own  help  in  that  trade,  had  placed  the  family 
in  circumstances  of  comfort.  But  joined  to  that 
industry  and  cleanliness,  had  been  a  love  of  ruling 
and  a  disregard  of  the  happiness  of  those  round 
her. 


48  Out  in  the  Storm. 

To  have  her  child  clean  was  a  first  necessity 
in  her  opinion,  but  whether  that  child  was  happy 
never  entered  her  head. 

So  she  sat  working,  inwardly  pleased  that 
Maggie  should  have  had  to  do  without  the 
Bible. 

By  and  by  the  invalid's  cough  roused  him 
from  his  slumber,  and  he  asked  her  if  she  would 
help  him  to  bed  for  the  night. 

She  rose  at  once,  and  came  to  his  side. 

"  Wife,"  he  said  kindly,  "  will  you  bring  me 
up  the  Bible  presently  ?  '* 

"  Oh,  I  can't  have  that  used,  Jim,"  she  an- 
swered abruptly ;  "  it  wasn't  bought  for  use." 

"  But  I  must  have  one,  wife,  and  I'd  rather 
have  that  one  as  has  got  our  marriage  written 
in,  and  all." 

Mrs.  Moder  glanced  at  him  in  surprise.  It 
was  a  long  time  since  a  soft  word  had  passed 
his  lips ;  was  he  going  to  die  ? 

"Two  hours  ago,  wife,"  he  said,  looking  up 
into  her  face,  "  I  should  have  bade  you,  with 
what  little  remaining  strength  I  had,  to  bring 
me  that  Bible  without  any  more  ado;  but  now 
I  feel  different  from  that." 

"  How  different  ? "  she  asked,  her  heart  sink- 
ing strangely. 

"  I  have  come  to  Him  as  receives  sinners,  and 


7 he  Lighthouse.  49 

somehow  I  can't  be  cross  with  you  to- 
night." 

Her  hard  face  softened  for  an  instant,  but 
then  she  thought  of  Maggie  and  the  Bible,  and 
it  hardened  again. 

"  It's  very  sudden,"  she  said  bitterly. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  quietly ;  "  but  you  know 
there's  all  the  difference  between  tossing  about 
on  the  rough  waves  out  at  sea  and  being  safe  in 
the  quiet  harbour.  I  don't  rightly  know  much 
about  it,  but  I've  had  that  before  my  eyes  all 
these  hours  when  you  thought  I  was  asleep. 
'  This  man  receiveth  sinners ; '  and  I  am  a 
sinner,  and  He's  received  me.  I  shall  learn 
more  about  it  when  you  bring  me  that  Bible, 
but  I've  learnt  enough  to  find  rest." 

His  wife  shook  her  head,  but  vouchsafed  no 
answer.  Was  he  wandering  in  his  mind  ? 

"  Here's  some  stuff  Mrs.  Benson's  brought  you 
to  eat,"  she  said. 

The  sick  man  held  out  his  hand  for  it.  "  I 
feel  tired  and  faint,"  he  said;  "it  was  kind  of 
her." 

"  I  could  have  made  you  some  if  you'd  have 
mentioned  it." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it.  It  is  cool  and 
nice." 

Still  Mrs.  Moder  looked  dissatisfied. 


50  Out  in  the  Storm. 

"  Can  you  get  me  the  Bible  now,  wife  ? "  he 
asked,  as  she  put  down  the  plate. 

"It  ain't  in  the  house." 

"  Not  ? "  he  asked,  looking  up  astonished. 

"  No ;  I  wasn't  going  to  have  you  ordering 
the  child  to  bring  it  up  to  you." 

"Well,  well,  wife,  we'll  not  talk  more  about 
it ;  I  know  as  you'll  bring  it  to  me  'afore  long. 
It  won't  be  long  as  I  shall  want  that  or  any- 
thing else." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  she  answered. 

"  It  won't  alter  it  one  way  or  t'other,  what- 
ever I  say ;  and  it  don't  make  much  difference 
now." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked,  looking  at 
him. 

"  I  mean  '  He  receives  sinners,'  so  it's  not  all 
dark  and  lonely  like  it  was." 

Mrs.  Moder  was  silent ;  she  could  not  under- 
stand what  had  come  over  her  husband,  and  sup- 
posed his  illness  must  have  affected  his  head. 
Yet  when  she  looked  at  his  face,  she  could  not 
but  acknowledge  that  it  had  never  looked 
happier. 

The  next  morning  the  sick  man  was  very 
weak  and  suffering,  and  Maggie  went  to  school 
with  a  sad  heart. 

Again    she   tried   to   learn   off   perfectly  the 


The  Lighthouse.  5 1 

Scripture  lesson,  but  the  class  had  passed  on 
to  another  part,  and  before  she  had  caught  many 
words,  the  lesson  was  over,  and  the  slates  were 
being  got  out  for  arithmetic. 

Maggie  felt  despairing  of  ever  doing  any  good, 
she  was  so  slow  and  so  far  behind  the  others. 
Now,  if  she  could  but  say  off  two  verses  like 
Phoebe  Benson,  it  might  be  of  some  use. 

Thinking  thus  sorrowfully,  old  Mrs.  Benson's 
advice  came  back  to  her :  "  Ask  the  Lord  Jesus 
to  teach  you  how  to  do  it,"  and  she  remembered 
how  her  poor  father  had  spoken  to  the  Lord 
Jesus,  and  how  he  had  seemed  comforted,  and 
so  she  made  up  her  mind  she  would  do  the 
same.  She  did  not  know  that  she  could  raise 
her  heart  to  Him  at  any  moment,  so  she 
determined  to  speak  to  Him  when  the  children 
were  let  out  for  their  run  in  the  play- 
ground. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  it  came,  but 
when  at  last  the  clattering  little  feet  raced  out, 
Maggie  ran  away  to  a  spot  behind  one  of  the 
elms  where  she  could  be  unobserved  for  an  in- 
stant, and  there  she  looked  up  and  asked  to  be 
shown  what  to  do. 

Confident  that  He  would  send  her  an  answer, 
she  ran  back  among  her  companions  with  a 
heart  relieved  of  its  great  load. 


5  2  Out  in  the  Storm. 

When  she  was  leaving  the  school  at  twelve 
o'clock,  Phoebe  Benson  touched  her  on  the 
shoulder.  "  I'm  coming  home  along  with  you 
to  get  granny's  basin;  do  you  think  as  it's 
empty  yet  ? " 

"  Yes ;  mother  turned  it  out  last  night,  and  I 
meant  to  bring  it  round  to  your  granny  after 
school." 

"All  right,  111  save  you  the  trouble,  and  per- 
haps you'll  want  to  be  with  your  father." 

"  Yes,  so  I  do ;  but  do  you  know,  Phoebe,  I 
can't  read  the  big  Bible  any  more,  because 
mother  won't  let  me  use  it." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Phcebe,  "  what  a  dreadful  pity. 
What  shall  you -do?" 

"I  don't  know,  but"- 

Maggie  did  not  like  to  say  she  had  told  the 
Lord  Jesus  about  it,  so  they  walked  in  silence 
till  they  reached  her  home. 

"  Come  in  and  wait  a  moment  while  I  run  up 
and  get  the  basin,"  said  she. 

But  the  shop  was  rather  full,  and  Maggie 
drew  Phcebe  through  it  to  the  passage,  and  left 
her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  peeping  in,  "  may  I  bring 
up  Phoebe  Benson,  she's  been  so  kind  to  me,  and 
I  think  she  would  like  to  see  you." 

"  All  right,  my  child." 


The  Lighthouse.  53 

"  Phoebe  ! "  whispered  Maggie  over  the  ban- 
nisters, "come  up." 

Phoebe's  smiling  little  face  was  soon  close 
beside  the  sick  man,  as  she  took  his  hand  and 
asked  him  how  he  did. 

Before  he  could  answer  her,  an  exclamation 
from  Maggie  made  her  turn  round  quickly. 

There  was  the  little  girl  gazing  spell-bound  at 
the  table,  as  if  her  eyes  must  deceive  her,  for  on 
it  lay  the  big  Bible  as  large  as  life. 

She  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  then  she  remem- 
bered that  this  was  the  answer  come  to  her  re- 
quest, and  she  felt  a  strange  awe  to  think  she 
had  received  something  from  the  skies. 

"  Sit  down,  Phoebe,"  said  the  invalid,  "  and 
cheer  me  up  a  bit  with  your  chatter.  I  know 
you  can  chatter,  because  I've  heard  you." 

Phoebe  blushed,  but  felt  it  impossible  to  talk 
just  when  she  was  asked  to  do  so ;  all  her 
thoughts  went  running  away  like  a  flock  of 
sheep  when  the  dog  is  after  them. 

"Maggie,"  said  her  father,  turning  his  head 
towards  her,  "  have  you  ever  seen  in  the  picture 
shop  in  High  Street  a  picture  of  a  ship  in  a 
storm  ? " 

"I  don't  know  but  what  I  have,"  answered 
Maggie. 

"  Is  there  one  there  now,  do  you  think  ?  " 


54  Out  in  the  Storm. 

Phcebe  said  she  thought  not,  as  she  had  looked 
in  only  that  morning. 

"  Because  I  was  always  fond  of  making  pic- 
tures in  my  mind,  and  I've  had  one  running  in 
my  head  all  night ;  but  my  head  is  so  queer,  and 
I'm  afraid  I  shall,  may-be,  forget  it ;  and  I 
thought  if  I  had  a  view  of  it  to  remind  me,  then 
it  would  all  come  back  to  me." 

His  voice  died  away  with  weakness  and  ex- 
haustion, and  the  little  girls  looked  on  full  of 
alarm. 

But  presently  he  roused  himself  again,  and 
looked  earnestly  out  of  the  window  by  his  bed- 
side. 

"  Could  you  tell  me  what  it  were  like,  father, 
and  then  if  you  forgot  I  could  tell  you  ? " 

"  There  it  is  before  my  eyes,"  said  the  sick 
man  musingly,  his  voice  coming  in  slow  gasps, 
but  his  face  full  of  intense  earnestness. 

"  It  is  an  awful  dark  night — oh,  an  awful  dark 
night,  out  at  sea.  The  clouds  hang  low,  black 
with  rain  and  storm,  and  no  moon  nor  stars  can 
come  through  them  to  give  light  around.  And 
there's  a  ship  on  that  sea,  agoing  a  long,  long 
voyage,  and  hoping  to  come  home  by  and  by ; 
but  somehow  the  storm  has  took  her  unawares, 
and  the  great  high  waves  have  washed  over  her 
deck,  and  they've  washed  her  compass  right  away. 


Mrs.  Muder  was  serving  some  one  in  the  shop  and  was  very  busy.'-fage  72 


The  L  i° /it house.  5  7 

"  She's  been  beating  about  on  them  restless 
waves  for  many  a  long  day,  thinking  she  must 
be  getting  near  land,  but  with  nothing  to  guide 
her  to  it,  nor  to  keep  her  off  the  rocks  as  will 
sink  her  for  ever,  if  she  runs  agin  them. 

"  I  see  her  now,  for  all  it's  so  dark,  I  can  see 
her  tossing,  tossing  with  no  hope  at  all. 

"  And  then,  when  the  winds  is  blowing  their 
fiercest,  and  the  waves  dashing  their  hardest,  and 
she  has  almost  given  up  all  hope,  far  out  in  the 
dense  darkness  there  comes  just  one  tiny  spark 
of  light ! 

"  And  lo,  as  the  mariner  on  that  poor  ship 
watches  with  straining  longing  eyes  to  see  if  it 
shall  fade  away  and  go  out  in  the  darkness,  he 
finds  the  light  still  shining  steady,  always  in  one 
place,  and  always  steady. 

"  '  That's  like  our  Lighthouse  at  home,'  says 
the  mariner  to  himself,  '  and  what  if  it  should 
be  the  one  as  I've  been  wearying  for  all  this 
time!' 

"  So,  though  the  wind  and  waves  beat  the 
vessel  worse  and  worse,  and  the  mariner  fears 
she  will  be  driven  agin  the  rocks  ere  ever  she 
can  get  to  that  Light,  still  putting  all  his  sail 
up,  and  guiding  her  as  best  he  may,  the  vessel 
comes  nearer  and  nearer  that  blessed  beam. 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  the  storm  and  the  waves 


58  Out  in  the  Storm. 

tries  harder  than  ever,  the  nearer  the  poor  ship 
gets  ;  but  as  I  watch  her,  she  comes  closer  and 
closer;  and  the  closer  she  gets,  the  more  sure 
the  mariner  is  that  it  is  the  Lighthouse  at  home. 

"  At  last  he  is  certain  on  it,  and  guidin'  the 
vessel  by  that  ever-brightening  Light,  in  spite  of 
waves  and  tempest,  them  very  waves  bears  him 
onwards  safely  into  the  Harbour! 

"  And  so  I  see  the  ship  now,  no  more  tossed 
about  and  buffeted,  no  more  in  danger  of  being 
shipwrecked,  but  riding  calm  and  free  in  the  safe 
Haven :  the  Light  ever  burns  with  its  cheering 
ray,  saying,  as  it  seems  to  me,  while  I  think  on 
it  — 

"  '  Come  unto  Me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.' " 


CHAPTER  VII. 


PHOSBE'S    HOME. 

HILE  Maggie  and  her  father  were  learn- 
ing the  great  lesson  of  finding  life  and 
safety  in  Jesus,  Phcebe  had  been  find- 
ing out  how  much  help  she  needed  even  in  the 
little  things. 

One  morning,  a  few  days  before  the  events  of 
the  last  chapter,  young  Mrs.  Benson  was  passing 
with  a  basket  of  clothes  through  her  passage,  and 
saw  Phcebe  standing  in  the  parlour  window  read- 
ing a  book. 

"  Phcebe,"  she  said,  "  before  you  go  to  school, 
you  must  sweep  up  this  room  better  than  that." 

"  Why,  mother,  I  did  it  before  breakfast." 

"  Your  doing  ain't  my  ideas  of  doing,"  said  her 
mother ;  "  so  you  must  do  it  again." 

She  went  out,  leaving  Phoebe  in  the  midst  of 
the  floor. 

"  I  don't  see  as  it's  not  right,"  she  said  to  her- 


60  Out  in  the  Storm.  - 

self,  with  a  frown;  "mother's  dreadfully  par- 
ticular." 

She  glanced  at  the  little  clock  over  the  mantel- 
shelf. It  wanted  just  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
school-time,  and  she  had  counted  on  finishing  a 
story-book  which  had  been  lent  her.  In  fact, 
this  had  been  the  cause  of  her  having  neglected 
to  do  the  room  properly;  she  had  been  peeping 
in  it,  and  then  going  on  with  her  sweeping 
between  whiles. 

Phosbe  had  hardly  ever  been  late  at  school  in 
her  life,  and  as  she  now  saw  the  time,  she  made 
up  her  mind  it  was  impossible  to  get  it  done 
before  she  should  have  to  leave  the  house. 
Instead  of  deciding  to  do  the  best  she  could,  she 
walked  over  to  the  fire  to  examine  the  clock 
more  closely. 

"  I  can  never  do  it  in  the  time,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  I'm  sure  mother  could  not  have  known 
how  late  it  was." 

So  after  standing  discontentedly  for  a  minute 
or  two,  she  went  to  find  her. 

"  Mother ! "  she  called  out  in  the  passage  in 
rather  a  vexed  little  voice. 

No  answer. 

"  Mother  !  "  called  Phoebe  again. 

Then  when  no  reply  came,  she  remembered  that 
.  her  mother  did  not  allow  them  to  call  about  the 


Phoebe's  Home.  61 

house  to  her.  So  she  ran  upstairs  to  see  if  she 
were  there.  She  searched  in  the  four  little  rooms 
and  came  down  again,  running  into  the  kitchen 
and  scullery  in  turn,  to  find  no  one  there. 

"  I  say,"  exclaimed  her  brother  Dick,  •  who  was 
putting  on  his  hat  and  preparing  to  start,  "  ain't 
you  a'most  ready,  Phoebe  ;  you'll  be  late  ! " 

"  I  know  I  shall ;  where's  mother.?  " 

By  this  time  Phoebe  was  nearly  crying. 

"  I  saw  her  go  up  the  garden  ever  so  long 
ago.  Yes,  there  she  is,  standing  behind  that  big 
sheet ;  don't  you  see  her  skirts  ?  I'm  off  now  ; 
I  can't  wait  for  you.  What's  kep'  you  so  long  ? " 

But  Phoebe  was  half  up  the  garden.  "Mother!" 
she  called,  "  did  you  know  it  was  so  late  ?  I 
shan't  have  time  to  do  the  room  before  school ; 
can't  I  do  it  when  I  come  home  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  mother. 

"  But  why  ?  "  asked  Phoebe  ;  "  I  shall  have 
plenty  of  time  then,  and  " • 

"You  can't  neglect  things,  my  dear,  one 
time,  and  then  make  up  by  doing  'em  another 
time!" 

"  But  I've  nothing  to  do  at  twelve,  mother, 
except  to  take  Tommy  out,  and  he  can  stay 
along  with  me." 

"  I  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Benson,  coming 
round  the  sheet  and  putting  the  pegs  in  her 


62  Out  in  the  Storm. 

apron-pocket;  "but  all  the  same  for  that,  I 
mustn't  let  you  do  so." 

"  But  I've  never  been  late  at  school  this  long 
time — not  once  this  year,  I  do  believe." 

Her  mother  did  not  answer,  but  put  her  hand 
quietly  on  Phoebe's  shoulder  and  looked  into  her 
face  in  silence. 

The  little  girl  turned  away  hastily  and  rushed 
back  into  the  house.  She  seized  the  broom  from 
its  nail  and  hastened  into  the  front  room.  She 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  and  proceeded  to 
sweep  desperately,  while  blinding  tears  of  anger 
and  vexation  prevented  her  seeing  where  she  was, 
or  what  she  was  about. 

A  sudden  blow  on  her  forehead  arrested  her, 
and  brought  her  to  herself.  A  projecting  corner 
of  her  mother's  little  chiffonier,  which  in  her  im- 
patience she  had  been  too  angry  to  see,  had  struck 
her,  and  before  she  had  time  to  realise  what  it 
was,  she  found  herself  sobbing  and  crying  as  if 
her  heart  would  break. 

The  broom  fell  out  of  her  hand,  and  she  sat 
disconsolately  on  the  middle  of  the  floor,  her 
hurt  head  the  most  distinct  grief  in  her  mind, 
but  with  a  feeling  that  she  was  the  most  un- 
happy little  girl  in  the  world. 

By  and  by  her  mother  came  in,  and  exclaimed 
on  seeing  her — 


Phoebe  s  Home.  63 

"  Why,  Phoebe,  not  gone  yet  ?  "  then  advanc- 
ing further  into  the  room,  "  What  ails  you,  my 
dear  ? " 

"  I've  hurt  my  head,"  said  Phoebe  piti- 
fully. 

"  How  did  you  manage  that  ? "  said  her  mother, 
wondering  at  the  unusual  sight  of  Phoebe  crying 
over  a  knock. 

But  Phoebe  took  up  her  broom  and  went  on 
sweeping,  gulping  down  her  tears  as  best  she 
might.  Her  mother  left  the  room,  and  came 
back  with  a  wet  rag  which  smelled  sweetly  of 
Calendula.  In  silence  she  placed  it  on  the 
bump  on  Phoebe's  forehead,  and  then,  thinking 
that  solitude  would  be  best  for  her  little  girl,  she 
went  back  into  her  kitchen. 

At  last,  the  room  was  done,  and  Phoebe  came 
through  to  put  the  brush  away.  She  took  a 
duster  in  her  hand,  and  as  she  was  turning  away 
she  said — 

"  Need  I  go  to  school,  as  it's  so  late,  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  Phoebe." 

Poor  little  Phoebe's  hard  angry  feelings  were 
not  gone  yet,  and  she  hastily  dusted  the  room 
and  ran  off,  forgetting  all  about  her  ugly  fore- 
head in  her  anxiety  to  get  to  school  as  soon  as 
possible. 

Her  mistress's  first  word  of  concern  brought 


64  Out  in  the  Storm. 

back  the  remembrance,  and  she  quickly  put  up 
her  hand. 

"Yes,  I  knocked  it  just  before  I  came  out." 

"  Was  that  what  made  you  so  late  ? "  asked  the 
mistress  kindly. 

Phoebe  hesitated,  blushed,  and  then  answered, 
raising  her  eyes  to  her  teacher's  face,  "No, 
ma'am." 

Her  mistress  was  troubled  at  Phoebe's  hesita- 
tion, for  the  bright  little  girl  was  a  great  favourite, 
and  she  could  not  bear  to  think  she  should  have 
been  playing  truant. 

"  I  will  speak  to  you  after  school,"  she  said  at 
last,  looking  earnestly  in  the  child's  face. 

Phoebe  went  to  her  seat,  and  the  day's  work 
proceeded  as  usual. 

After  school  the  mistress  called  her  into  her 
room. 

"  Why  were  you  late,  Phoebe  Benson  ? "  she  said 
kindly ;  "  don't  mind  speaking  out,  my  dear." 

But  Phoebe  did  not  feel  as  if  she  could  speak 
out. 

"  Were  you  doing  wrong,  my  dear,  or  how  did 
that  knock  come  ? " 

"  I  was  sweeping  the  parlour,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  And  was  that  what  kept  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Did  your  mother  know  ?  " 


Phoebe  s  Home. 


"  Yes,  ma'am." 

The  mistress  looked  puzzled,  and  said  hesi- 
tating, "  I  wish  you'd  speak  out,  Phoebe  Benson ; 
I  do  not  understand  you.  Is  that  all  the  reason 
you  have  for  being  late  ?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

The  mistress  dismissed  her,  though  she  was  not 
perfectly  satisfied,  and  Phoebe  turned  homewards. 
She  felt  out  of  tune  altogether,  and  she  suddenly 
thought  she  would  walk  home  by  the  meadows. 
They  were  allowed  to  do  this,  as  it  only  took  a 
few  minutes  longer  than  going  through  the  town. 
So  she  hastened  up  the  solitary  lane,  and  turned 
into  the  green  field,  glad  at  last  to  be  alone. 

Just  as  she  was  thinking  this,  she  almost  ran 
against  her  brother  Dick  and  another  boy,  who 
were  standing  together  under  a  hedge. 

"  Holloa ! "  exclaimed  Dick,  as  surprised  as 
she  was,  and  looking  rather  taken  aback. 

"  Why,  Dick,"  she  said,  too  astonished  to  know 
what  to  say. 

Her  brother  turned  round  to  come  home  with 
her,  saying  in  a  would-be  careless  tone  to  his 
companion,  "All  right,  I  understand." 

The  boy  walked  off,  not  too  well  pleased  at 
the  interruption,  and 'Dick  and  Phoebe  proceeded 
the  length  of  the  field  in  silence. 

"  Dick,"  she  said  at  last  severely,  "  I  thought 

E 


66  Out  in  the  Storm. 

father  had  distinctly  said  as  you  wasn't  to  go 
with  that  boy." 

"  A  fellow  must  have  some  chaps  to  be  friends 
with,"  answered  Dick  sullenly.  "  Father  forgets 
as  he  was  young  once." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  does,"  said  Phoebe,  feel- 
ing her  face  get  hot  at  the  remembrance  of  some 
words  of  hers  that  morning ;  for  while  she  had 
been  kneeling  in  the  middle  of  the  parlour  floor, 
sweeping  desperately,  angry  with  herself  and 
with  her  mother,  she  had  muttered — 

"Mother  forgets  as  she  was  young  once,  or 
she  wouldn't  make  me  late  for  school  like 
this." 

"Yes,"  pursued  the  boy,  "you  can  be  sharp 
enough  to  come  down  on  me,  Phcebe,  but  you're 
not  always  good  yerself.  I  know  you  was  as 
cross  as  two  pins  this  very  morning." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  this,  Dick," 
said  Phcebe. 

But  she  said  it  in  an  altered  tone,  and  Dick 
knew  that  in  a  moment. 

"  Now,  wasn't  you  ?  "  he  persisted. 

Phcebe  paused.      It  was   a   hard   struggle  to 
confess    herself    in    the    wrong    to    this    young 
brother;   but  a  sudden  thought  of  Whose  she 
was,  enabled  her  to  do  it,  and  she  answered, 
,  "  Yes,  I  was,  Dick." 


Phoebe  s  Home.  67 

She  sat  down  on  a  bank  which  was  close  to 
them,  and  there  was  a  minute  or  two's  silence, 
while  Phoebe  came  back  to  her  soul's  resting- 
place. 

She  had  meant  to  be  alone  and  have  time  to 
think  it  all  over,  and  she  wanted  to  be  able  to 
go  to  that  precious  Saviour  and  confess  the  sin- 
ful thoughts  and  actions  of  that  sorrowful  morn- 
ing, but  instead  of  that  it  was  all  the  work  of  a 
moment. 

Her  Lord  had  said  to  her,  "Why  beholdest 
thou  the  mote  that  is  in  thy  brother's  eye,  and 
considerest  not  the  beam  that  is  in  thine  own 
eye  ?  "  and  here  she  was  humbled,  penitent,  and 
— forgiven.  For  she  had  gone  to  Him  to  be 
washed,  and  He  had  said,  "  Go  in  peace." 

So  at  last  she  said  softly,  "  Dick,  I'll  tell  you 
something." 

"  Well  ?  "  he  answered  ungraciously. 

"  I  was  cross — very  cross.  First,  I  was  idle, 
and  did  not  half  do  my  work ;  and  then  I  was 
ever  so  angry  with  mother  for  making  me  do  it ; 
and  then  I  got  this  knock,  and  I  said  it  was 
mother's  fault,  and  I've  been  that  nasty  and 
horrid  all  the  morning,  as  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  it." 

"  And  yet  you  can  come  down  on  me  fast 
enough." 


68  Out  in  the 


"  Not  now;  Dick  ;  I'm  only  awfully  sorry  as 
you  can  do  as  father  bid  you  not." 

Phcebe's  eyes  were  brimming  over  at  the 
thought  of  her  own  wrong-doing,  and  Dick  felt 
there  was  real  humility  in  her  voice,  and  so  he 
said  more  softly  — 

"  Well,  Phoebe,  I  weren't  doing  no  harm." 

"  Don't  you  think  as  you  were,  Dick  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  at  any  rate.  I  didn't  mean  to  do 
no  harm." 

'•'  But  the  harm  is  in  not  obeying." 

"  But  you  don't  always  obey  !  " 

"  No  ;  I  don't  say  a  word  about  that  ;  but 
because  I've  been  wrong  to-day,  and  am  very, 
very  often  wrong,  too,  it  don't  make  it  a  bit 
more  right  for  you  to  go  against  what  father 
said." 

"  I  thought  it  'ud  make  you  feel  for  me,"  said 
Dick. 

"  And  so  it  does,"  answered  Phcebe  ;  "  oh,  you 
can't  think  how  much  !  But  all  the  same  I 
never  wished  so  much  in  my  life  as  I  was  good, 
so  as  I  might  encourage  you  to  be  good,  Dick." 

"  Why  do  you  want  me  to  be  good  ?  "  he 
asked  ;  "  it  don't  make  any  difference  to  you  as  I 
can  see." 

Phcebe  was  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  into 
the  clouds. 


Phoebe  s  Home.  69 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  can  say  what  I  mean, 
Dick  ;  but  for  ever  so  long  I've  wished  more  than 
anything  else  to  please  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  so  I 
want  you  to  love  Him  too." 

"  Why  particularly  ?  " 

"  Because — 0  Dick  !  if  we  don't  begin  to  love 
Him  now,  we  might  leave  it  till  too  late." 

"  Too  late  for  what  ?  "v 

"  To  be  saved,"  said  Phoebe,  turning  pale. 

Dick  was  rather  startled,  but  he  rose  now, 
saying,  "  Well,  we'll  be  late  for  dinner  if  we 
stay  any  longer." 

Phoebe  walked  home  slowly,  her  mind  not 
made  up  as  to  what  she  ought  to  do  about  Dick's 
forbidden  friend.  Just  as  she  was  thinking  that 
if  she  told  the  Lord  Jesus  about  it,  He  would  see 
to  it,  Dick  burst  out — 

"There,  Phoebe!  I'll  do  this  for  yer.  I'll 
not  go  with  him  again.  There  !  " 

"Dear  Dick,"  she  exclaimed, infinitely  relieved, 
"  I  am  so  glad  as  you've  decided  so." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered  a  little  gruffly ;  "  but 
look  here,  I  didn't  do  it  because  I  was  afeared  as 
you'd  tell." 

"  Oh  no,  Dick." 

He  said  no  more,  and  in  a  moment  .they  found 
themselves  at  home. 

Their  mother  was  getting  the  dinner  ready, 


yo  Out  in  the  Storm. 

and  Phoebe  saw  with  a  pang  that  the  cloth  was 
spread  on  the  table,  and  that  her  mother  had  had 
to  do  her  usual  duties  as  she  was  not  home. 
She  hastened  in,  and  before  her  mother  could  say 
a  word,  she  ran  up  to  her  and  threw  her  arms 
round  her  neck. 

u  Mother,  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  whispered,  and 
no  more  was  needed.  Her  mother  returned  her 
embrace  warmly,  and  then  said  gently — 

"  Now,  Phoebe,  my  dear,  hasten  to  get  father's 
dinner ;  I'm  afraid  we  shall  be  late." 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 


AN    INVITATION. 

the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which 
her  father  had  told  them  about  the 
lighthouse,  when  Maggie  returned  from 
school  she  found  that  Phoebe  had  forgotten  to 
take  back  her  granny's  basin.  So  she  wrapped 
it  up  in  a  piece  of  paper,  and  ran  round  to  Mrs. 
Benson's  with  it. 

She  knocked  at  the  green  door,  and  was 
admitted  by  Phoebe  herself,  who  held  by  the 
hand  her  little  brother  Tommy. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  was  here,"  said  Maggie. 

"  We've  just  come  to  have  tea  with  granny." 

"  Have  you  ?  And  I've  come  to  bring  back 
the  basin." 

"  Why,  I  left  it  after  all  this  morning ! 
Whatever  is  my  head  worth — I'm  so  sorry." 

"  It  don't  matter  one  bit ;  but  I  thought  as 
your  granny  might  be  wanting  it." 


7  2  Out  in  the  Storm. 

Phoebe  left  her  standing  on  the  step  while  she 
went  into  the  room  with  the  parcel.  Maggie 
could  see  through  the  open  door  that  she  ran  to 
her  grandmother's  side  and  whispered  something 
very  earnestly.  Then  Mrs.  Benson  looked  to- 
wards the  door  and  nodded  her  head,  and  Phcebe 
came  running  back. 

'•'  Granny  says  you  may  stay  to  tea  too,  if  you 
like  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  ?     Oh,  thank  you  ;  but  "— 

"  Of  course  you'll  have  to  ask  your  mother,  I 
'spose,  but  that  won't  take  long ;  we'll  couie 
with  you,  Tommy  and  me,  and  ask  her." 

Maggie's  heart  beat.  She  had  never  been 
asked  out  to  tea  that  she  could  remember. 
Her  mother  had  "kept  themselves  to  them- 
selves," as  she  called  it,  and  had  not  allowed 
her  child  to  make  any  friends.  Phcebe  Benson 
had  been  the  only  little  girl  who  had  entered 
their  doors. 

Maggie  knew  this,  and  her  expectations  were 
not  very  high,  but  she  tried  to  hope  as  they  went 
quickly  along. 

Mrs.  Moder  was  serving  some  one  in  the  shop 
and  was  very  busy. 

"Go  to  Mrs.  Benson's  to  tea!"  she  echoed; 
"  eh  ?  mind  you're  home  by  seven  o'clock,  that's 
all,  Maggie." 


An  Invitation,  73 

"  Then  I  may,  mother  ?  " 

"  I'm  busy,  child,  do  run  off  as  fast  as  you 
can  ;  caii't  you  see  I  have  mislaid  that  piece  of 

flannel " 

'  But  Maggie  was  gone  before  the  sentence  was 
finished ;  she  slipped  through  the  shop  and  ran 
upstairs. 

"  Father,  I'm  asked  out  to  tea,  but  if  you  want 
me  one  bit  I'll  stay  ever  so." 

"  No,  no,"  he  answered ;  "  you  won't  be  late,  I 
daresay  ? " 

"  Oh,  no,  but  "— 

"  You  need  not  hurry,  child.  I  shall  be  all 
right.  I  feel  better  to-night." 

This  was  such  good  news,  that  Maggie's  feet 
danced  along  the  pavement,  while  Phoebe's  feet 
had  to  dance  to  match  them.  Little  Tommy, 
between  them,  nearly  flew,  his  light  toes  hardly 
touched  the  ground. 

They  soon  reached  Mrs.  Benson's  door,  and 
Phoebe  turned  the  handle  and  entered. 

The  carpenter  stood  before  the  fire  talking  to 
his  wife,  and  tea  was  spread  out  on  the  table, 
while  a  smell  of  hot  muffins  greeted  their  senses 
pleasantly. 

"  Put  your  things  on  this  peg  in  the  scullery," 
said  Phoebe,  going  on  before  and  taking  off 
Tommy's  hat  and  hanging  it  up  with  her  own. 


74  Out  in  the  Storm. 

"  Granny's  very  particular  about  her  room ;  ain't 
you,  granny  ? " 

Mrs.  Benson  answered  her  smile  with  a  rarely 
sweet  one,  while  she  said,  "  You  be  saucy  to- 
night, Phoebe ! " 

"  That's  'cause  I  love  being  here,  granny," 
she  answered. 

"  Tommy  'oves  being  here,"  echoed  the  little 
boy. 

"  And  I  love  having  you,"  answered  his  kind 
granny,  taking  his  soft  little  hand  to  lead  him 
to  a  high  chair  which  was  kept  on  purpose  for 
him. 

Tommy  knew  just  where  he  was  to  sit  and 
what  he  was  to  do.  He  rested  his  two  little 
hands  before  him  on  the  table,  and  leant  against 
them,  while  he  waited  for  his  grandfather  to 
ask  a  blessing.  He  and  Phoebe  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  going  without  their  meal  as  to 
sit  down  to  eat  without  thanking  Him  who 
gave  it. 

Phcebe  drew  her  chair  up  close  to  her  little 
brother,  and  after  a  glance  at  her  grandmother, 
she  placed  one  for  Maggie  on  the  other  side  of 
him. 

Tommy  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Maggie,  and  put 
out  his  hand  invitingly.  "  This  is  for  zoo,"  he 
said ;  which  little  sentence  made  Maggie  feel  at 


An  Invitation.  75 

home,  and  she  advanced  to  her  place  with  less 
shyness. 

"  Come  along,  grandfa'ver  I "  said  the  little 
fellow,  "  'cause  we  can't  begin  without  a  b'essing ! " 

The  carpenter  came  forward  to  comply  with 
the  child's  request,  and  then  seated  himself  by  his 
wife. 

"  Here  we  are,  a  happy  party,  to  be  sure,"  he 
said,  stretching  his  hand  out  for  hers  which  rested 
on  the  tray.  "  Why,  grandmother,  muffins,  have 
you  got  for  us ! " 

"Didn't  you  smell  them  and  see  them  long 
ago,  grandfather  ?  "  asked  Phcebe,  laughing. 

"  No,  I  can't  say  as  I  did." 

"  Grandfa'ver  was  thinkin',"  said  Tommy. 

"  Well,  I  was,  my  little  man,"  answered  Mr. 
Benson. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  little  brother  like  that," 
Maggie  ventured  to  say,  very  softly,  across  the 
little  curly  head  to  Phcebe. 

Phcebe  glanced  down  lovingly.  "  Yes,  I  can't 
tell  you  how  we  all  love  him." 

"  What  do  you  do  at  home  of  evenings  ? "  asked 
Maggie. 

"After  tea  I  help  mother  put  Tommy  and 
baby  to  bed,  and  then  I  wash  up  the  tea-things, 
and  then  I  learn  my  lessons." 

"  When  do  you  get  done  those  ? " 


Out  in  the  Storm. 


"  Oh,  about  seven  o'clock,  and  when  I  have 
done,  I  run  round  to  granny's." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Benson,  "  and  after  she 
has  helped  me  in  a  few  little  things,  she  sits 
down  with  me  and  learns  to  knit." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Maggie  ;  "  I  wish  /  could 
knit  ;  it  seems  so  difficult  to  me." 

"  Why,  it's  easy,  now  I  know  it  ;  then  while  I 
knit  I  sing  to  grandmother." 

"  Sing  ?  "  echoed  Maggie  again. 

"  Yes,  all  the  hymns  and  tunes  I  know  ;  '  it 
lightens  her  up,'  she  says." 

"  So  it  does,"  answered  Mrs.  Benson  ;  "  it  seems 
to  bring  the  thought  of  heaven  nearer." 

"  I  know  what  you're  talkin'  about,"  said  the 
child,  with  a  loving  little  nod,  and  pointing  up  to 
heaven,  "  it's  about  Jesus." 

"  Yes,  Tommy  knows,  "  added  his  grandfather  ; 
"  and,  children,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  if  we  know 
about  Jesus,  it's  above  all  other  knowing  in  the 
world  !  Why,  if  I  only  knew  how  to  carpenter, 
would  that  be  any  good  when  I  come  to  die  ?  " 

"  And  it  ain't  only  dying,"  added  Mrs.  Benson, 
"it's  living  too.  If  He  loved  us  and  died  for 
us,  ought  we  not  to  love  Him  and  live  for  His 
glory?" 

Maggie  was  very  silent,  taking  it  all  in  with 
astonishment.  She  had  never  heard  anything 


An  Invitation.  77 

like  this  before,  and  new  and  strange  thoughts 
were  running  through  her  mind. 

Then  it  was  Jesus  who  must  have  said  that 
"come,"  which  had  so  comforted  her  father;  for 
even  this  darling  little  ehild  said  it  was  Jesus 
the)7  were  talking  about. 

AVhen  tea  was  over,  the  children  helped 
Mrs.  Benson  to  clear  the  table  and  wash  the 
cups,  and  after  that  the  carpenter  said  he  sup- 
posed they  wanted  a  game  of  "  blind  man  ?  " 

The  children  joyfully  assented,  and  Phoebe 
pushed  back  the  table  and  placed  the  chairs 
against  the  wall. 

Mr.  Benson  took  off  his  coat  and  stood  wait- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  when  he  saw 
the  children  ready,  he  closed  his  eyes  up  very 
tight,  and  made  a  rush,  at  them. 

Of  course  they  retreated  into  the  corners  and 
ran  in  every  direction,  while  grandfather  managed 
to  catch  the  little  skipping  Tommy  far  oftener 
than  was  his  share,  at  which  his  eyes  sparkled 
gleefully. 

When  the  girls  had  been  caught  at  last,  Mr. 
Benson  said  he  must  go  to  his  work,  and  their 
grandmother  sat  down  to  her  knitting. 

"  Phoebe,"  she  said,  "  will  you  and  Maggie  sing 
me  a  hymn,  and  then  it  will  be  time  to  go  home, 
I  think  ?  " 


78  Out  in  the  Storm. 

Tommy  seated  himself  at  his  granny's  knee, 
and  looked  on  soberly  while  the  two  little  girls 
settled  what  they  both  knew,  and  then  they 
began  to  sing. 

"  There's  a  Friend  for  little  children 
Above  the  bright  blue  sky." 

When  they  had  sung  to  the  end,  Phoebe 
kissed  her  grandmother  and  grandfather,  and 
fetching  their  hats  from  the  peg,  the  three 
children  were  ready  to  go. 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  have  me,"  said 
Maggie,  as  she  stood  by  the  old  woman,  raising 
her  eyes  full  of  the  thanks  she  did  not  know 
how  to  express. 

"  I  have  been  very  glad,  dear,"  answered 
Mrs.  Benson,  stooping  to  kiss  her  too.  "  Good- 
bye, dear." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SAFE  IN  THE  HARBOUR. 

HEN"  Maggie  got  home  she  found  her 
mother  sitting  upstairs,  putting  the 
finishing  stitches  to  her  dress,  and 
her  father  propped  up  in  his  chair  by  the  fire, 
with  his  eyes  resting  on  the  open  Bible.  He 
looked  exceeding  weary,  and  his  face  was  drawn 
with  pain,  while  the  perspiration  stood  on  his 
forehead  with  the  effort  he  was  making. 

"Is  that  you,  Maggie?"  he  said  wearily;  "come 
along,  child,  and  sit  down  and  read  to  me.  I'm 
no  hand  at  finding  the  place,  more's  the  pity, 
and  it's  too  much  for  me — too  much  for  me 
altogether." 

He  closed  his  eyes,  but  Maggie  noticed  that 
his  face  was  troubled.  She  looked  down  on  the 
book  to  see  if  anything  there  might  do  him  good, 
but  she  did  not  recognise  the  place ;  it  appeared 
to  be.  nothing  but  hard  names,  and  words  she 
could  not  understand. 


8o  Out  in  tJie  Storm. 

"Shall  I  turn  to  where  we  was  last  night, 
father  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  can  light  upon  it,"  he  whispered. 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  can,  father ;  it's  Luke,  three- 
quarters  through  the  book." 

Maggie  turned  the  leaves  as  near  as  she  could 
guess,  and  after  some  little  searching,  and  a  de- 
cided flutter  at  her  heart,  the  fifteenth  chapter 
of  Luke  really  lay  open  before  her. 

"  Shall  I  begin  it,  father  ?  " 

"Yes,  go  straight  on  and  read  right  through. 
I'd  like  to  hear  once  more  what  He  says  to 
sinners." 

So  Maggie  read  all  about  the  woman  losing 
the  piece  of  silver  and  sweeping  until  she  found 
it ;  and  about  the  lost  sheep,  which  the  shepherd 
searched  for  until  he  found  it. 

Her  father  listened  with  profound  attention, 
uttering  a  broken  "  Ay,  ay,"  as  she  slowly  read 
out  the  words. 

Mrs.  Moder's  needle  flew  in  and  out  of  her  work 
with  a  hasty  click,  which  Maggie  knew  meant 
that  she  was  dissatisfied  with  what  was  going  on, 
but  she  said  not  a  word.  Then  Maggie  came  upon 
the  story  of  the  prodigal  son,  who  wandered 
so  long  and  hopelessly,  who  was  so  hungry 
and  forlorn,  who  had  spent  all  and  was  so  very, 
very  far  off.  As  she  read  the  words,  "I  will 


Safe  in  the  HarBour.  8 1 

arise,  and  go  to  my  Father,"  and  of  that  Father's 
yearning  tenderness  in  receiving  his  lost  son,  the 
sick  man's  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  one  by 
one.  Maggie  read  on  to  the  end,  and  then  looked 
up. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  if  it  makes  you  sad,  shall 
Heave  off?" 

"  It  don't  make  me  sad,  child ;  it  makes  me 
more  glad  than  ever  I've  been  in  my  life.  That's 
just  like  what  He's  said  to  me, '  found.'  I  could 
never  have  believed  He'd  have  taken  so  much 
trouble  ;  but  He  has,  and  it's  like  my  picture 
as  I  was  telling  you  about :  '  Out  in  the  storm,' 
'  safe  in  the  harbour ' — '  lost  and  found.'  " 

Maggie  rose  and  stood  before  the  fire  with  her 
little  hands  crossed  in  front  of  her,  gazing  into 
the  bright  flame  thoughtfully. 

"It's  time  for  bed  now,"  said  her  mother 
sharply. 

"  Kiss  me  first,  my  child  ;  it  won't  be  long — 
not  long  now." 

"  Father,  don't  say  so,"  exclaimed  Maggie  tear- 
fully. 

"Why,  child,"  he  answered,  "I  don't  mind 
how  soon  it  is ;  I'm  safe  in  the  harbour  ! " 

Maggie  dimly  understood.  Her  little,  igno- 
rant heart,  too,  had  gone  out  to  that  mighty 
Saviour.  He  had  been  searching  for  her,  and 

F 


82  Out  in  the  Storm. 

had  found  her ;  and  though  as  yet  she  knew  but 
little  of  His  love,  for  all  that  He  was  to  her  a 
living  Person  who  had  helped  her  in  her  dire 
need.  v 

So  she  kissed  her  father  with  a  comforting 
sense  that  he  was  loved  and  cared  for  by  One  who 
was  far  wiser  and  stronger  than  she  was ;  and  she 
went  up  to  bed  with  a  heart  at  rest. 

Mrs.  Moder  got  up  directly  Maggie  was  gone, 
and  prepared  for  her  husband  to  go  to  bed,  for 
she  saw  he  was  greatly  exhausted. 

"You'd  better  have  yer  beef- tea  before  you 
get  into  bed,"  she  said,  placing  it  by  his 
side-. 

His  trembling  hand  could  hardly  hold  the  cup, 
and  when  he  had  taken  a  few  sips,  he  pushed  it 
from  him  with  a  smile. 

"Wife,  it's  little  more  of  that  sort  I  shall 
want." 

"  You'll  be  better  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  I  hope  so,"  he  answered. 

There  was  something  she  did  not  like  in  that 
reply,  something  which  made  her  heart  sink 
down  and  down;  so  she  answered  a  little 
hastily — 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  being  safe  in  the 
harbour  ?  " 

"  I  mean  Jesus"  he  said. 


Safe  in  the  Harbour.  83 

"  It's  a  strange  change,"  she  answered,  "  from 
what  you  was  a  week  ago  ! " 

"  It's  all  the  difference  in  the  world,  between 
being  lost  and  found" 

She  was  stooping  down  to  help  him  to  rise 
from  his  chair,  and  as  he  placed  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  she  found  a  kiss  imprinted  on  her  fore- 
head. But  to  her  surprise,  the  hand  upon  her 
shoulder  loosened  its  grasp,  and  the  form  she  was 
supporting  fell  back  heavily.  Without  a  struggle, 
without  a  sigh,  his  spirit  had  passed  to  that 
Saviour  who  had  sought  and  found  him. 


CHAPTER    X. 


"  'APPY  NOW." 

ARLY  the  next  morning,  a  little  step 
came  down  the  stairs,  and  a  little  face 
peeped  cautiously  into  the  bedroom. 

But  something  strange  struck  Maggie's  eyes. 
The  fire  was  laid,  but  not  lighted ;  the  room  was 
perfectly  neat,  not  a  shred  lay  on  the  carpet,  not 
a  chair  was  out  of  its  place  ;  no  breakfast  was 
prepared  on  the  table,  but  a  green  cloth,  only 
used  for  very  best,  was  spread  there  instead. 
Maggie  could  hear  her  mother  stirring  about  in 
her  usual  morning  occupation  of  sweeping  the 
shop  and  making  all  things  ready  for  customers, 
so  there  Was  no  doubt  about  her  being  up;  but 
the  curtains  drawn  along  that  side  of  the  four- 
post  bedstead  hid  her  father  from  view. 

"  How  quietly  he  must  be  sleeping,"  thought 
Maggie,  as  she  noiselessly  crept  across  the  room, 


"  'Appy  Now"  85 

and  she  began  to  -wonder  how  it  was  his  breath- 
ing seemed  so  very  much  better. 

When  she  stood  by  the  table  she  could  see 
her  father's  form  in  the  bed,  but  she  felt  startled 
that  he  should  be  so  very  still,  and  advanced 
quickly  to  his  side.  She  uncovered  his  face  with 
tender  fingers,  and  wondering  who  could  have 
covered  him  up  like  that  when  he  was  asleep, 
she  sat  down  by  his  side  to  wait. 

Maggie  had  never  seen  death,  and,  though  her 
father  looked  much  worse  than  she  had  ever  known 
him,  she  imagined  if  she  waited  long  enough  he 
would  wake  up  and  speak  to  her.  But  she 
waited  very  long,  and  still  he  did  not  move  ; 
at  last,  frightened  at  herself,  but  feeling  she 
must  do  something,  she  bent  and  kissed  his 
cheek. 

Never  had  his  face  felt  like  that  before ;  she 
started  back  terribly  alarmed.  Was  that  come, 
which  had  been  coming  ?  And  he  left  all  alone  ! 
Oh,  that  was  a  dreadful  thought ;  what  if  he  had 
missed  her,  had  wanted  her  ! 

She  could  not  bear  the  thought,  and  fled  down- 
stairs to  her  mother. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  she  gasped,  "  there's  some- 
thing the  matter  with  father ;  I'm  sure  there  is. 
Do  come  up." 

Her  beseeching  eyes  were  raised  to  her  mother's 


86  Oiit  in  the  Storm. 

pale  face,  and,  when  she  saw  the  stony  look  there, 
she  began  to  tremble  all  over. 

"  I  know,"  answered  her  mother,  going  on  with 
her  work. 

"  But  can't  anything  be  done  ?  won't  you  go 
to  him  ? " 

"  It's  no  use,"  answered  Mrs.  Moder. 

Maggie  turned  away,  and  went  slowly  upstairs 
again. 

Why  would  not  her  mother  tell  her  what  was 
the  matter  with  father  ?  A  new  thought  struck 
her.  She  would  run  for  the  doctor,  if  her  mother 
would  but  let  her. 

So  she  ran  down  quickly,  hope  once  more 
entering  her  heart.  She  found  her  mother  set- 
ting the  breakfast  in  the  little  parlour. 

"  May  I  go  for  the  doctor  ? "  asked  Maggie, 
"  it  might  do  him  good." 

"What  nonsense,  child,  nothing  can  do  him 
good  now ;  he's  dead." 

"  Dead  !  "  said  Maggie,  turning  away  hope- 
lessly. She  had  a  little  canary  onqe  which  had 
been  found  one  winter's  morning  lying  in  the 
bottom  of  its  cage.  She  remembered  taking  it  out 
and  holding  it  in  her  hand ;  she  remembered  how 
cold  and  stiff  it  had  been ;  she  remembered  how  it' 
had  never  moved  any  more.  Her  mother  had  said 
then,  "You  can't  do  him  any  good  now,  he's  dead." 


"'Appy  Now"  87 

All  this  came  back  to  her  as  she  stood  by  the 
table.  At  last  she  turned  silently  and  went  up 
once  more  to  her  father's  room. 

She  climbed  up  on  the  bed  and  laid  her  head 
on  his  pillow,  resting  her  warm  little  cheek 
against  the  icy  cold  one. 

"  0  father,  father ! "  she  murmured,  "  I  wish 
you  could  speak  to  me  ;  can't  you  speak  to 
me  ? " 

But  no  answer  could  come  from  those  closed  lips, 
and  Maggie  put  her  arm  about  his  neck  in  vain ; 
the  only  sounds  in  that  still  room  were  her 
passionate  sobs  and  entreaties. 

Her  mother's  voice  roused  her  at  last.  "  Come, 
child,"  she  said,  "you  must  have  something  to 
eat ;  it's  no  good  fretting  so." 

Maggie  found  herself  lifted  off  the  bed  and 
carried  downstairs  in  her  mother's  strong  arms. 
Mrs.  Moder  placed  her  in  a  chair  by  the  parlour 
fire,  and  put  a  cup  of  hot  tea  in  her  hand.  The 
child  drank  some  mechanically,  and  was  revived 
by  the  warmth.  The  fire,  too,  began  to  take 
effect  on  her  chilled  little  frame,  and  though  she 
still  shivered,  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
her  mother. 

"  Won't  you  have  some  breakfast,  mother  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  I  can't  eat,  child,"  said  her  mother,  sitting 


88  Out  in  the  Storm. 

as  Maggie  had  never  seen  her  sitting  before 
— with  her  hands  folded  dejectedly  in  her 
lap. 

"  Mother,"  said  Maggie,  coming  to  her  side 
timidly,  and  placing  her  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
"  I  have  just  thought  of  something." 

Mrs.  Moder  did  not  answer  or  take  any  notice 
of  the  trembling  touch. 

"  He  said,"  pursued  Maggie,  "  as  he  was  safe 
in  the  harbour ;  and  he  seemed  very  glad,  so 
perhaps  he  don't  want  us  as  much  now  as  I've 
been  thinking." 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  her  mother. 

"  But  he  said  so,  didn't  he  ? " 

"Yes, 'he  said  so." 

The  cold  calm  face  continued  to  be  turned 
away  from  the  little  comforter. 

"  Mother,"  Maggie  went  on  softly,  "  I've  often 
been  tiresome  to  you,  but  I'm  awful  sorry  now ; 
will  you  let  me  try  to  be  good  ? " 

"  0  Maggie,  Maggie ! "  exclaimed  the  poor 
woman,  bursting  into  tears  and  holding  out 
her  arms  at  last,  "  if  only  he  could  come 
back ! " 

They  wept  together  for  a  long,  long  time,  the 
child  folded  in  arms  that  had  never  embraced 
her  since  she  had  been  a  baby.  Perhaps  the 
mother  was  realising  how  much  she  had  missed  ; 


" 'Appy  Now"  89 

the  child  was  thinking  that  there  was  joy  even 
in  such  sorrow. 

"  Mother,"  she  whispered  presently,  "  Jesus 
our  Saviour  really  does  hear  us  when  we  speak 
to  Him." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  each  time  He's  sent  me  an  answer." 

"  How  can  He  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Moder,  raising 
her  head  and  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  That  I  don't  know ;  only  somehow  He  does, 
mother.  Father  asked  Him,  and  I've  asked  Him, 
and  I  know" 

Mrs.  Moder  shook  her  head,  though  she  did 
not  seem  to  mind  Maggie's  saying  it. 

By  and  by  she  rose  to  clear  away  the  break- 
fast. "  I'll  think  about  it,  child,"  she  said  ;  "  but 
it's  all  dark  to  me." 

Maggie  stood  before  the  fire  feeling  very  for- 
lorn and  miserable ;  she  knew  it  must  be  getting 
near  school-time,  but  she  supposed  she  need  not 
go  to  school. 

"  Can  I  help  ? "  she  said,  turning  round  and 
noticing  her  mother's  pale  set  face. 

"Yes,  you  must  answer  the  shop  while  I  go 
out,"  answered  Mrs.  Moder ;  "  you'll  not  mind 
being  left  alone  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  mother." 

"  I  shall  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can." 


go  Out  in  the  Storm. 

"  But  ain't  you  going  to  take  down  the  shutters, 
mother  ? " 

"  No,  let  them  bide ;  if  any  one  wants  anything 
they  can  have  it,  but  I  shan't  have  the  shutters 
took  down." 

So  Maggie  was  left  alone.  Her  tears  had  all 
been  shed,  and  she  set  about  seeing  what  there 
was  to  do. 

She  brushed  up  the  hearth,  dusted  the  room, 
and  then  went  into  the  shop.  How  miserable  it 
all  looked  in  the  dim  light  which  made  its  way 
through  the  little  glass  door.  She  sat  down 
behind  the  counter,  because  she  had  nothing 
alse  to  do,  and  waited  wearily. 

How  she  longed  for  the  sound  of  that  cough 
once  more,  or  the  heavy  breathing  which  had 
been  its  accompaniment  night  and  day  for  so 
long! 

And  then  the  thought  came  over  her,  that 
perhaps  her  dear  father  was  well  of  that  cough 
and  had  no  more  suffering  where  he  was.  She 
had  heard  about  people  going  to  heaven,  and 
she  supposed  that  must  be  where  her  father 
was. 

• 

These  thoughts  made  her  cry  once  more,  but 
they  were  peaceful  tears  too ;  for  how  could  she 
be  sorry  when  he  was  glad  ?  At  least  she 
thought  she  oudit  not  to  be. 


In  the  grass,  which  was  only  just  beginning  to  get  green,  a  tiny  buttercup 
jieeped  out."— Page  114. 


Now"  93 


Just  then  the  glass  door  opened,  and  Phoebe 
and  her  little  brother  came  in. 

"  0  Maggie  !  "  she  exclaimed,  coming  round 
the  counter  and  throwing  her  arms  round  her 
neck,  "  I  am  so  dreadfully  sorry." 

Maggie  cried  still  more  at  the  loving  sym- 
pathy, and  then  she  sat  down  again  and  took 
Tommy  on  her  knee,  feeling  as  if  to  press  him 
in  her  arms  was  the  greatest  solace  she  could 
have. 

Tommy  understood  that  there  was  grief,  and 
twined  his  arms  lovingly  round  her  neck. 

"  You  said  he  did  love  Jesus,  didn't  you  ?  " 
said  Phoebe  gently. 

"Yes  —  oh  yes.  He  said  he  was  safe  in  the 
harbour  —  that  Jesus  received  sinners.  I'm  sure 
he  loved  Him  !  " 

"Then  he's  happy  now,"  said  Phoebe  conn- 

• 

dently. 

"  He's  'appy  now,"  echoed  Tommy,  raising  his 
little  eyes  to  Maggie's,  "  'cause  he  loves  Jesus." 

Maggie  knew  but  little  yet  about  Jesus,  but 
these  assurances  gave  her  infinite  comfort.  Many 
little  children  who  have  been  to  Sunday-school 
all  their  lives  know  all  about  being  sinners  and 
Jesus  dying  to  save  them  from  their  sins,  and 
all  about  going  to  heaven  if  their  sins  have 
been  washed  away  in  His  precious  blood.  But 


94  Out  in  the  Storm. 

Maggie  had  never  been  taught  these  things; 
beyond  the  bare  name,  she  Had  never  heard 
about  Him  till  the  last  few  days. 

Yet,  in  those  few  days  she  had  learned  what 
some  children  better  taught  have  never  learned, 
that  Jesus  loved  her,  and  gave  Himself  for  her. 
This  knowledge,  imperfect  as  it  was  as  yet,  was 
enough  to  carry  her  through  all  the  storms  of 
life,  safe  home  to  glory  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


ALONE. 

OULD  that  long  weary  day  never  pass 
away  !  Maggie  sat  in  the  cold  shop,  or 
went  and  stood  by  the  little  parlour 
fire  in  forlorn  solitude. 

Her  mother  came  back  after  a  time,  and  by 
and  by  a  man  called,  and  Mrs.  Moder  went  up 
with  him  to  the  chamber  of  death.  After  that, 
when  he  was  gone,  things  went  on  much  as  usual, 
except  that  they  sat  down  in  the  darkened  little 
parlour,  instead  of  up  in  her  father's  room. 

A  few  customers  came  in,  more  than  usual, 
Maggie  thought,  but  her  mother  did  not  stay 
to  gossip  with  any  of  them  to-day.  Her  face 
stopped  the  inquiries  that  would  otherwise  have 
been  plentiful.  She  served  them  with  the  trifles 
they  required,  and  if  any  one  asked  in  an  awed 
whisper  "  if  he  was  gone  ? "  she  merely  bowed 
her  head  in  answer. 


Out  in  the  Storm. 


"  Were  it  very  sudden  at  the  end  ?  "  one  of 
her  neighbours  ventured  to  ask,  and  she  re- 
plied coldly,  "  He  died  at  eight  o'clock  last 
night." 

So  the  day  wore  away,  and  early  in  the  even- 
ing Mrs.  Moder  told  Maggie  she  was  coming  up 
to  sleep  in  her  room,  and  that  they  would  shut 
the  shop  and  go  to  bed  at  once. 

"Mother,"  said  Maggie,  "may  I  read  to  you 
them  words  he  liked  so,  what  gave  him  comfort  ?  " 

"  I  can't  bear  no  reading,  child." 

"  Could  you  let  me  say  that  one  to  you,  that 
I  don't  know  where  it  is,  only  I  can  say  it.  I 
did  say  it  to  him,  and  it  was  then  he  asked 
Jesus  to  give  us  rest." 

"  Well,  say  it  if  you  like,  child  ;  I  don't  'spose 
it'll  do  me  good." 

"  '  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest,'"  said 
Maggie. 

"  Well,  now,  child,  if  you're  satisfied,  we'll  go 
to  bed." 

Maggie  felt  far  from  satisfied,  for  it  grieved 
her  little  heart  to  see  her  mother's  face  of  silent 
grief;  but  she  did  not  know  what  more  to  do  for 
her,  so  she  hastened  upstairs. 

As  she  came  to  her  father's  door  she  paused  : 
then  stepped  softly  in  and  put  down  the  candle 


Alone.  97 

on  the  table.  Suddenly  she  thought  of  some- 
thing. She  had  been  cherishing  a  geranium  for 
months,  and  it  had  just  sent  out  one  lovely 
flower.  She  hastened  to  the  window  where  it 
stood,  and  plucked  it ;  then  she  crept  softly  to 
the  bed  and  placed  it  on  her  father's  breast. 
When  she  had  given  one  kiss  on  the  cold  cheek, 
she  hurried  away  lest  her  mother  should  mind 
her  being  there. 

She  had  never  been  taught  to  pray  to  God 
every  morning  and  evening,  but  she  had  a  vague 
idea  that  some  people  did ;  she  thought  she  had 
seen  pictures  of  it.  So,  feeling  a  great  need  of 
comfort,  and  having  found  that  there  was  deepest 
peace  in  coming  to  Jesus,  she  knelt  down  and 
told  Him  just  how  sad  she  was  and  how  sad  her 
mother  was.  Then  she  got  into  bed  and,  wearied 
with  much  sorrow,  fell  asleep. 

It  was  some  hours  after  that  she  was  wakened 
by  a  stifled  sound  of  weeping,  and  then  Maggie 
recognised  her  mother's  voice  close  to  her  side. 

"Poor  mother,"  said  she  pityingly,  raising 
herself  to  put  her  arms  round  her,  as  she  had 
clasped  little  Tommy,  "  Jesus  is  sorry  for  you. 
I've  told  Him  all  about  us,  and  He  knows  now." 

"  Ah,  child,  child ! "  was  all  Mrs.  Moder  could 
answer. 

"  He  says,  '  Come  to  Him,' "  persisted  Maggie, 

G 


98  Oitt  in  the  Storm. 

"  and  father  came,  and  I  came,  and  now,  mother, 
do  you  come.  He  does  give  rest." 

The  poor  woman's  sobs  subsided  while  she 
listened  to  the  soothing  little  voice,  and  Maggie 
finding  this,  went  softly  on,  repeating  that  one 
text  over  and  over,  till  she  heard  her  mother's 
breath  come  and  go  quietly,  and  then  she  knew 
that  she  was  asleep. 

The  next  few  days  passed  on  with  but  little 
variation,  her  mother  being  very  silent,  but  al- 
lowing Maggie  to  do  many  little  trifles  for  her 
which  before  she  would  have  refused.  They 
were  days  of  peace  to  Maggie.  When  her 
mother  did  not  want  her,  she  crept  up  to  that 
still  room,  sat  down  at  the  little  table,  and 
opened  the  big  Bible. 

Slowly  she  would  read  to  herself  in  a  low 
whisper  the  words  of  the  sacred  book,  beginning 
at  the  loved  chapter  which  had  been  her  father's 
solace,  and  continuing  page  after  page  till  she 
got  to  the  end. 

When  she  came  to  the  43rd  verse  of  the  23rd 
chapter,  and  read  the  words  "  To-day  shalt  thou 
be  -with  Me  in  paradise,"  her  eyes  shone  with 
joy,  and  she  went  over  and  gazed  upon  her 
father's  face  with  new  happiness. 

"  Then  he  is  safe  and  happy,"  she  murmured. 
"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  so  glad ;  I  wish  I'd  read  that 


Alone.  99 

to  him  before,  but  he  knows  now ;  oh,  I'm  so 
glad ! " 

"  What  are  you  so  glad  about  ? "  asked  her 
mother,  who  had  come  in  and  was  standing  by 
the  coffin  on  the  other  side.  She  spoke  low, 
and  looked  with  wonder  at  the  little  girl. 

"  See  here,  mother,"  whispered  Maggie,  pulling 
her  forward  to  the  book,  and  pointing  with  her 
little  finger ;  "  I  thought  as  he  was  safe  and 
happy,  but  now  I  know  it !  I've  read  all  on  to 
here,  and  every  word  of  it  is  that  same  sort  of 
thing  about  receiving  sinners.  I  wish  as  you'd 
let  me  read  it  to  you." 

"  Well,  there's  no  call  for  you  to  sit  up  here 
in  the  cold,  child ;  bring  the  book  downstairs 
and  we'll  see.'"' 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  the  cold,  mother;  but  I'd 
like  to  bring  it  down,  if  you'd  let  me." 

Mrs.  Moder  said  no  more,  but  Maggie  knew 
no  second  permission  was  needed. 

So  that  evening,  when  her  mother  sat  down  to 
her  work,  she  placed  the  Bible  on  a  chair  close 
to  the  fire,  and  fetching  a  low  stool  from  the 
shop,  on  which  her  mother  used  to  stand  to 
reach  anything,  she  seated  herself  and  opened 
the  leaves. 

Mrs.  Moder  stitched  away  at  the  black  work, 
while  Maggie  stumbled  along  over  the  blessed 


ioo  Out  in  the  Storm. 

words.  She  could'  read  it  better  than  she  had 
been  able  to  do  that  first  day,  but  still  it  was 
very  poor  reading.  Mrs.  Moder  made  no  remark, 
but  listened  in  silence,  and  tear  after  tear  rolled 
into  her  lap. 

Maggie  began  at  the  I  5th  chapter  of  Luke, 
feeling  more  at  home  there  than  in  any  other 
place,  and  consequently,  as  it  was  not  new  to  her, 
she  read  it  with  more  appreciation  of  its  beauty. 

When  at  last  she  grew  weary,  her  mother  spoke. 

"  It's  very  nice,  child,"  she  said,  "  and  I  like 
it  better  than  I  thought  I  should ;  but  it  ain't 
meant  for  me." 

"  Ain't  it  ?  "  asked  Maggie,  wondering. 

"  No,"  answered  Mrs.  Moder  decidedly. 

"  I  thought  it  was  meant  for  everybody,  mother," 
said  Maggie,  hesitating  j  "  but  perhaps  it's  only,  as 
father  said,  meant  for  sinners." 

Mrs.  Moder  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the  child's 
face,  but  the  unconscious  puzzled  look  there  made 
her  turn  away  without  speaking. 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Maggie  after  a  pause. 

"  Knew  what  ?  " 

"  Whether  anybody  but  sinners  may  come  to 
Him." 

Mrs.  Moder  was  silent. 

The  next  day  was  arranged  for  the  funeral. 
At  twelve  o'clock  Maggie  was  dressed  in  her 


Alone.  101 

black  frock,  and  Mrs.  Moder  told  her  with  an 
averted  face,  that  if  she  wanted  to  go  into  that 
room  again,  she  had  better  do  so  now.  The  child 
gave  a  startled  look  at  her  mother  and  hastened 
away. 

By  and  by  Mrs.  Moder's  footsteps  were  heard 
on  the  stairs,  and  Maggie  hastily  pressed  one  last 
kiss  on  the  marble  brow  and  hurried  from  the 
room,  without  daring  to  look  back. 

Just  as  they  were  ready  to  start  for  the  ceme- 
tery, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Benson  came  to  the  house. 
Maggie  opened  the  door  to  them,  and  raised  her 
heavy  eyes  in  surprise. 

"  Will  you  ask  your  mother,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Benson,  "  if  we  may  walk  with  you  ?  I  hear 
she  is  going  alone,  and  we  should  like  to  do  it  if 
it  would  be  any  comfort." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  to  Mrs.  Moder 
herself,  who  had  followed  Maggie  to  the  door. 

"  You're  very  kind,"  she  said  stiffly,  not 
knowing  how  to  refuse,  and  yet  wishing  they 
had  not  asked. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  feel  less  lonely,"  said  the 
old  woman  kindly,  though  she  perfectly  under- 
stood she  was  not  wanted. 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Moder ;  "  will 
you  walk  in  ? " 

Maggie's  little  hand  was  slipped  into  Mrs. 
Benson's,  and  gave  hers  a  grateful  squeeze.  She 


IO2  Out  in  the  Storm. 

noticed  that  her  old  friend  was  dressed  in  her 
best,  and  had  a  black  bonnet  and  shawl. 

The  cemetery  was  some  distance  from  the 
town.  Maggie  walked  beside  her  mother,  and 
old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Benson  followed.  Everything 
seemed  very  strange  to  the  child,  and  she  was 
very  glad  when  it  was  .all  over. 

Mrs.  Moder  did  not  invite  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ben- 
son to  enter  the  house  on  their  return. 

"  I  thank  you  kindly,"  she  said,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  them  at  her  door.  "  You  were  quite  right ; 
it  was  better  than  being  alone,  but  I  can't  say  any 
more  to-day." 

So  she  and  Maggie  were  shut  into  the  deso- 
late house. 

After  tea,  when  the  child  took  out  the  big 
Bible  to  read  as  usual,  her  mother  said, — 

"  Child,  do  you  remember  what  you  said  yes- 
terday about  the  book  not  being  meant  for  me  ? " 

"  I  remember  as  you  said  you  did  not  think  it 
was,"  said  Maggie,  her  old  misgivings  and  per- 
plexities on  the  subject  rising  up  again. 

"  Well,  I've  no  wish  to  make  myself  out  better 
than  I  am,  though  I'm  not  so  bad  as  some  of  my 
neighbours.  I  couldn't  say  as  I'm  anything  but 
a  sinner." 

"  Then  that's  all  right,  mother,"  said  Maggie 
joyfully  ;  "  because  father's  text  was,  '  This  man 
receiveth  sinners,'  so  you  see  it  is  meant  for  you." 


CHAPTEE  XII. 
THE   KING'S  MESSENGER. 

WEEK  or  two  after  her  father's  death, 
Maggie  was  running  home  from  school, 
when  she  was  arrested  by  knocking 
against  some  one  who  was  walking  briskly  in  an 
opposite  direction. 

"  Why,  my  child,  gently,"  said  the  old  woman 
patiently,  "  little  folks  should  look  where  they're 
agoing ! " 

Then  Maggie  recognised  a  kind  voice,  and 
looked  up  in  old  Mrs.  Benson's  face. 

"  It's  you,  is  it,  Maggie  ? "  she  said ;  "  why,  I 
was  just  thinking  about  you  ! " 

"  Thinking  about  me,  ma'am  ? "  asked  Maggie 
surprised. 

"  Yes ;  about  you  and  your  mother ;  how  is 
she,  dear  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am  ;  but  I  think  she's  all 
ridit." 


1 04  Out  in  the  Storm. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  her  something.  Is  she  at 
home  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  she's  always  at  home  now." 

Maggie's  lip  trembled ;  somehow  talking  to 
dear  old  Mrs.  Benson  touched  her  heart  and 
brought  up  old  thoughts,  and  made  her  realise 
afresh  all  she  had  lost.  Yes,  her  mother  was 
always  at  home  now,  as  she  had  said.  Poor 
Mrs.  Moder  had  no  heart  to  go  out,  and  sat 
behind  her  counter  in  silence  from  morning  till 
night. 

"  Then  I'll  come  home  with  you,  my  dear. 
I'm  sure  you  try  to  comfort  your  poor  mother 
all  you  can  ?  " 

"  She  don't  like  me  to  talk  to  her,"  said 
Maggie. 

"  Talking  ain't  everything,  as  we  often  say  at 
home,"  answered  Mrs.  Benson ;  "  but  there's  other 
ways  of  comfort,  my  child." 

Maggie  hung  her  head;  she  felt  that  she 
could  do  very  little  for  her  mother. 

"  You  try,  don't  you,  dear  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am,  only  I  don't  know  as  I  do 
any  good." 

"  To  be  sure  you  do.  If  you  are  always  look- 
ing to  see  what  you  can  please  her  in,  there'll 
come  a  time  when  she'll  find  out  as  it's  good  of 
the  dear  Lord  to  give  her  a  little  girl." 


The  King's  Messenger.  105 

Maggie  looked  up.  "  Did  He  give  me  to 
mother  ? "  she  asked  wondering. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure  He  did ! " 

They  turned  at  this  moment  into  the  little 
shop,  and  Mrs.  Benson  greeted  Mrs.  Moder  kindly, 
asking  her  if  she  might  come  in  and  sit  down  for 
a  few  minutes. 

Mrs.  Moder,  though  she  answered  less  harshly 
than  she  had  done  on  the  day  when  her  husband 
was  buried,  still  replied  so  coldly,  that  most 
people  would  have  been  offended  and  have  ceased 
to  care  to  make  friends. 

But  Mrs.  Benson  felt  differently  from  most 
people.  She  made  very  few  acquaintances,  and 
never  found  time  for  visiting  her  neighbours  for 
the  sake  of  a  little  gossip. 

But  she  could  find  time  to  do  many  a  little 
kindness,  to  pay  many  a  visit  where  her  loving 
face  and  cheerful  words  would  relieve  sorrow  and 
bring  hope.  For  she  knew  her  Master's  voice, 
and  when  He  spoke  to  her  and  bid  her  carry  a 
message  for  Him,  straightway  she  went  and 
did  it. 

So  to-day  she  took  no  notice  of  Mrs.  Moder's 
stern  face  and  want  of  welcome,  but  went  forward 
into  the  little  sitting-room,  saying,  as  she  sat 
down — 

"  I  do  not  go  to  strangers  very  much,  Mrs. 


io6  Out  m  the  Storm. 

Moder,  but  I  do  not  feel  you  a  stranger,  knowing 
your  dear  little  daughter." 

Mrs.  Moder  was  silent,  hardly  assenting  with 
a  glance. 

"And  I  do  not  feel  you  to  be  a  stranger, 
seeing  that  we  stood  with  you  at  the  graveside 
so  lately." 

"  That  was  none  of  my  seeking,  ma'am,  as  you 
know,"  she  answered  coldly,  "  though,  as  I  said, 
I  was  obliged  to  you  afterwards." 

"When  I  was  told  to  come  and  see  you,  I 
was  sure  the  Friend  that  sent  me  knew  what  He 
was  doing." 

Mrs.  Moder  looked  a  little  surprised,  but  also 
a  little  angry. 

"  I  have  no  friends  here,"  she  said, "  so  I  don't 
see  as  any  one  had  any  right  to  meddle  in  my 
affairs." 

"  It  was  a  Friend  better  than  any  earthly  friend. 
It  was  '  the  Friend  of  sinners.' " 

Mrs.  Moder  started,  and  then  recovering  her- 
self said,  as  she  rose  from  her  chair — 

"  I'm  a  person  who  has  been  used  to  be 
to  myself  all  my  life,  ma'am,  and  though  I 
don't  wish  to  be  rude  to  those  who  mean  it 
kindly,  yet  I'd  a  great  deal  rather  you'd  let  me 
alone." 

Mrs.    Benson    rose    too,  without  a  shade  of 


The  King's  Messenger.  107 

vexation  in  her  sweet  gentle  face ;  she  put  her 
hand  on  Mrs.  Moder's  arm  and  said  gravely — 

"  My  dear,  I'm  an  old  woman,  and  I'm  not  going 
to  be  vexed  with  you ;  I  know  too  well  what  a 
sore  wounded  heart  you've  got,  and  that  alone 
would  be  enough  reason.  But  there's  just  one 
thing  I've  got  to  say  " 

She  paused,  and  Mrs.  Moder  felt  constrained 
to  look  into  her  face  and  listen. 

"  There's  a  great  King — somewhere — a  great 
mighty  King. 

"  And  He  has  servants  of  all  sorts ;  poor  and 
rich,  old  and  young ;  and  He  said  to  one  of  His 
old  servants  the  other  day,  '  Go  and  take  this 
message  to  that  poor  woman  who's  lost  her 
husband.' " 

Mrs.  Moder  turned  away  hastily,  and  dropped 
into  her  chair. 

"  And  this  was  the  message,"  pursued  Mrs.  Ben- 
son tenderly,  "  '  I  know  the  thoughts  that  I  think 
towards  you,  saith  the  Lord,  thoughts  of  peace 
and  not  of  evil,'  '  I  have  loved  thee  with  an  ever- 
lasting love,  therefore  with  loving-kindness  have 
I  drawn  thee.' " 

"  Drawn  me  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Moder  in  spite  of  her- 
self. 

"  He  drew  your  husband,  didn't  He  ? " 

"  /  don't  know  ! "  she  answered  bitterly. 


io8 


Out  in  the  Storm. 


"And  He^  drawing  you.  He's  saying  to  yon 
at  this  very  moment,  '  I  have  loved  thee  with  an 
everlasting  love ; '  '  God  so  loved  the  world,  that 
He  gave  His  Son.'  " 

When  Mrs.  Moder  looked  up,  she  found  herself 
alone  ;  the  King's  messenger  had  gone. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


back, 


TWO  GRAVES. 

WO  or  three  months  passed  away.  In- 
stead of  the  biting  winter  days  and 
leafless  trees,  warm  sunshine  had  come 

and    all    the    earth    looked    bright    and 


green. 

Phcebe  and  Maggie  were  sitting  in  the  ceme- 
tery together,  picking  daisies  and  tying  them  in 
wreaths  while  they  talked. 

They  had  come  there  that  spring  afternoon  to 
bring  some  flowers  for  two  graves. 

Phcebe  was  dressed  in  mourning,  and  her 
bright  little  face  looked  rather  more  sober  than 
usual,  while  Maggie's  seemed  brighter  and  happier 
than  it  had  ever  been  before. 

"  I  like  being  here,"  said  Phcebe  softly,  laying 
her  hand  on  a  little  mound  whose  turf  was 
hardly  yet  grown  green  ;  "  it  seems  to  bring  me 
nearer  to  him,  it  is  so  quiet  and  peaceful." 


1 10  Oiit  in  the  Storm. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Maggie  thoughtfully,  "  it  is 
quiet,  and  in  that  way  it  seems  to  make  heaven 
nearer;  but  I  am  glad  I  don't  have  to  think 
they're  here." 

"  So  am  I,"  answered  Phoebe  tearfully ;  "  but 
I'm  not  so  good  as  you,  Maggie ;  I  don't  think 
of  heaven  as  often  as  you  do." 

"Why,  I'm  not  good,"  exclaimed  Maggie; 
"  I'm  all  sorts  of  things  that  are  bad  !  I'm  idle, 
and  I  am  naughty  to  mother  sometimes,  and 
when  she's  sharp  with  me  I  get  cross,  and  " 

"I  daresay  you  do,  but  I  don't  mean  that 
way,"  answered  Phoebe;  "but  you  can't  deny 
it,  you  do  love  the  Lord  Jesus  far  more  than 
I  do." 

"I  don't  know  how  to  measure  love,"  an- 
swered Maggie  simply ;  "  but  I  ought  to  love 
Him,  for  oh,  Phoebe,  if  you  could  guess  how  sad 
and  desolate  I  was  afore  He  found  me  out ! " 

"Yes,  that's"  what  I  mean;  you  knew  how 
bad  it  was  to  be  without  Him,  and  so,  now  He's 
your  best  friend." 

"  But  so  He  is  yours,  Phoebe  ? " 

"  Yes — oh,  so  He  is — but  I  don't  talk  to  Him 
and  tell  Him  everything  as  you  do." 

"  But  you  could  if  you  liked,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Does  He  answer  all  your  prayers  ? "  asked 
Phoebe  softly. 


Two  Graves.  1 1 1 

Maggie's  countenance  fell  for  an  instant  as 
she  answered  slowly,  "Not  yet,  Phoebe." 

"  And  you  think  He  will  ? " 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  do  when  He  don't  answer 
you  ? " 

"I  go  on  asking  Him  to  do  it  if  He  don't 
mind." 

Maggie  looked  up  into  the  blue  sky,  and 
Phoebe's  eyes  followed  hers. 

"  /  asked  Him  not  to  let  little  Tommy  die," 
said  Phoebe  sorrowfully. 

"But  then,  Phoebe,"  said  Maggie  gently, 
"perhaps  He  thought  it  was  best  so." 

"  Yes — only  I  loved  him  better  than  anything 
in  the  world,  and  I  am  all  miserable  now  he's 
gone." 

Maggie  knew  something  of  what  that  loneli- 
ness of  Phoebe's  meant ;  she  could  guess  at  it  by 
what  she  felt  in  looking  at  her  father's  empty 
chair;  so  she  did  not  answer,  but  her  heart 
ached  at  the  sad  tone  of  the  poor  little  sister's 
voice. 

"He  always  loved  Jesus,  I  think,"  said 
Phoebe  thoughtfully ;  "  and  after  he  was  taken 
ill  he  would  ask  me  over  and  over  to  say  his 
hymn  to  him  about  '  that  'appy  place,'  as  he 
used  to  call  it.  Oh,  I  wish  you  could  have 


1 12  Out  in  the  Storm. 

seen  how  it  comforted  him  to  hear  about 
Jesus  ! " 

"  Then  don't  it  comfort  you  too,  Phoebe  ?  " 

"Yes — and  you  mustn't  think,  Maggie,  as  I 
don't  love  Jesus — because  I  do — but  " 

"  You  can't  just  be  happy  that  He  wanted  the 
little  darling ! " 

Phoebe's  arms  rested  on  her  knees,  and  she 
laid  her  head  upon  them  with  a  sob,  as  she  shook 
her  head. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  seen  him  and  kissed 
him.  once  more ;  I  never  knew  or  heard  he  was 
ill;  and  then  you  came  and  told  me  he  was 
gone." 

"  Yes,  it  was  very  sudden ;  just  a  violent  cold 
such  as  he  had  often  had  before/' 

"  Who  taught  him  .  about  Jesus  ?  "  asked 
Maggie  gently,  longing  to  hear  all  particulars, 
and  yet  hardly  knowing  if  Phoebe  liked  to 
tell. 

"  It  was  granny  most,  and  father.  Once 
Tommy  and  I  had  to  spend  three  months  with 
granny,  for  mother  was  very  ill  and  could  not 
see  after  him  ;  so  we  went  there,  and  I  remember 
every  day  granny  would  take  him  on  her  knee, 
though  he  was  only  a  bit  of  a  boy,  and  would 
tell  him  '  Jesus  loved  him.'  It  was  then  he 
learnt  to  point  to  Heaven,  like  you've  seen  him 


Two  Graves.  1 1 3 

do ;  and  I  can't  tell  you  how  happy  he  used  to  be. 
It  was  then  I  first  began  to  love  the  Lord  Jesus." 

"  Did  your  mother  teach  him  too  ? "  asked 
Maggie. 

"  Sometimes  lately.  Mother  says  her  long 
illness  made  a  great  difference  to  her,  and  she 
knows  now  what  she  never  did  'afore." 

Maggie's  eyes  glistened.  "  I'm  so  glad  !  "  she 
said. 

But  Phosbe  laid  her  head  upon  her  knees 
again  quite  dejectedly. 

"  What  is  it  makes  you  so  sad  ? "  asked 
Maggie  ;  "  is  it  that  you're  afraid  he  ain't  happy." 

"  No  ;  oh  no  !  " 

"  Then  it's  because  you're  lunely  ? "  asked  the 
child  softly. 

"No — it's  just  this,  Maggie.  I  want  him 
dreadfully  sometimes,  and  I  can't  be  satisfied  as 
my  prayer  wasn't  answered." 

Phoebe  spoke  low,  as  if  half  ashamed  to  say 
it ;  and  yet  it  was  a  relief,  and  her  tears  fell  more 
quietly. 

"  If  we  ask  Jesus,"  whispered  Maggie,  bending 
over  her  and  stroking  her  hair  with  loving  hand, 
"  He  will  make  you  understand,  and  be  glad  He's 
done  it." 

"  Will  He  ?     asked  Phoebe,  looking  up. 

"  I  am  sure  He  will,  He  loves  us  so." 

H 


1 1 4  Out  in  the  Storm. 

The  children  took  up  their  daisies  again  and 
twined  them  in  silence,  till  two  pretty  wreaths 
lay  on  the  two  graves  beside  the  spring  flowers 
from  their  gardens  which  they  had  brought  with 
them. 

"Look,"  exclaimed  Phoebe  softly,  pointing 
down  on  the  grave. 

In  the  grass,  which  was  only  just  beginning 
to  get  green,  a  tiny  buttercup  peeped  out. 

"  Oh,  don't  pick  it,"  said  Maggie. 

"  It's  for  father's  Bible,"  answered  Phcebe 
tenderly ;  "  our  little  darling  loved  buttercups  so. 
He  always  came  home  with  his  pockets  full  of 
them." 

Then  they  turned  away  in  silence,  and  walked 
home  hand  in  hand  ;  the  knowledge  that  their 
two  loved  ones,  whose  bodies  lay  there,  were  re- 
joicing in  the  Paradise  of  God,  took  away  the 
sting  of  death. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


HARD    HEARTS. 

UT  poor  little  Maggie  had  her  own 
troubles  and  an  unanswered  prayer 
resting  on  her  heart  too.  Her  mother, 
after  the  first  few  days  of  their  sorrow,  had  re- 
lapsed into  the  same  cold  woman  she  had  been 
before,  and  desolate  indeed  would  the  child  have 
been,  but  for  the  ever-present  Saviour  on  whom 
she  learned  to  depend  the  more  that  she  had  no 
one  else. 

Sorely  as  she  wished  her  mother  would  take 
her  to  her  heart,  yet  when  she  did  not,  she  crept 
up  to  her  room  and  knelt  down  by  her  bed  and 
told  Jesus  about  it.  They  were  poor  little 
prayers,  for  Maggie  had  never  learned  to  pray ; 
but  they  were  just  words  straight  from  her 
little  sorrowful  heart,  up  to  that  great  heart  of 
love  which  was  longing  to  give  her  peace  and 
rest. 


1 1 6  Out  in  the  Storm. 

So  the  little  prayer  that  began  by  telling 
Him  how  lonely  she  was,  ended  in  thanking 
Him  for  His  comfort ;  and  then  came  that 
earnest  entreaty  "  that  He  would  comfort  mother 
too." 

One  day,  when  she  came  down  from  tell- 
ing Jesus  everything,  her  mother  called  her 
into  the  little  parlour,  where  she  was  sitting  at 
work. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  child  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Upstairs,  mother." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  there  ? ' 

The  tone  was  severe,  and  Maggie  trembled 
and  answered  hastily — 

"Nothing,  mother." 

"Nothing?"  said  Mrs.  Moder,  noticing  the 
burning  blush  that  overspread  the  child's  face. 

"At  least"— 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  her  mother,  "  say  not  a 
word  more !  I  thought,  after  all  your  loving 
Jesus  and  all  that,  you'd  have  been  above  telling 
a  lie!" 

"  0  mother  !  "  said  Maggie,  turning  away,  cut 
to  the  heart  at  her  words. 

"  Loving  Jesus  and  all."  She  went  into  the 
shop,  hardly  knowing  what  she  was  doing,  and 
stood  at  the  glass  door  looking  out.  "  Had  she 
told  a  lie  ?  "  She  Imrdly  knew ;  she  felt  she  had 


Hard  Hearts.  1 1 7 

been  very  wrong  not  to  have  spoken  out  at  once ; 
Tout  fear  of  her  mother's  anger,  and  perhaps  deri- 
sion, had  made  her  hesitate,  and  now  she.  was 
actually  accused  of  a  lie. 

As  she  stood  and  thought  it  all  over,  every 
moment  it  seemed  harder  to  go  and  explain  it 
to  her  mother.  No,  she  could  not.  So  having 
made  up  her  mind  so  far,  she  tried  to  shake 
off  her  miserable  feelings,  and  set  about  her 
lessons. 

She  walked  back  into  the  other  room  with  a 
hard  look  on  her  face,  such  as  it  had  never  worn 
since  that  glad  day  when  she  had  heard  the  voice 
of  Jesus  saying  "  Come." 

Her  mother  took  no  notice  of  her,  and  Maggie 
went  over  her  tasks  as  industriously  as  she  could. 
But  though  her  eyes  were  on  the  words,  her 
thoughts  were  far  away. 

She  was  debating  with  herself  as  to  what  she 
would  do.  Pride  said,  "  Go  on  with  your 
lessons  as  if  nothing  had  happened:  you  had 
been  doing  no  harm,  and  she  ought  not  to  have 
blamed  you ; "  and  Conscience  said,  "  Difficult 
as  it  was,  the  plain  straight  path  would  have 
been  to  say  at  once  what  you  had  really  been 
doing,  no  matter  if  mother  had  not  understood 
it." 

The  battle  raged  fiercely  in  her    heart,   and 


1 1 8  Out  in  the  Storm. 

again  and  again  the  poor  little  girl  said  hope- 
lessly, "  I  can't  do  it,  and  it's  no  use." 
"  "  It's  bedtime,"  said  her  mother  presently,  "  go 
at  once,  Maggie." 

Not  a  line  had  she  learned,  not  a  sentence 
had  entered  her  mind.  She  closed  her  book  and 
raised  her  eyes  to  her  mother's.  But  they  were 
fixed  on  her  work,  and  Maggie  slowly  came  round 
to  bid  her  good-night. 

"  Good-night,"  said  her  mother  gravely,  and 
Maggie  kissed  the  cool  cheek  which  was  half 
turned  away. 

Then  she  took  her  caudle  and  went  to  her 
room.  It  was  many  months  now  since  she  had 
begun  the  habit  of  praying  night  and  morning, 
so  she  knelt  down  before  she  undressed,  in  her 
usual  way,  and  then  she  paused.  The  battle 
raged  in  her  heart  still,  and  she  could  not  speak 
to  the  holy  God  while  it  did,  and  yet  how  could 
she  conquer  herself  ? 

At  last  the  words  came  over  her,  "  Come  unto 
Me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden,"  and 
she  knew  the  voice,  and  as  she  heard  it,  her 
hard  little  heart  melted,  and  all  at  once  she 
realised  all  the  siufulness  of  the  last  hour's 
thoughts. 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  looked 
to  that  tender,  pitying  Saviour,  whose  love  had 


Hard  Hearts.  119 

not  grown  cold  because  she  had  been  so  rebellious ; 
and  as  she  once  more  responded  to  His  call,  she 
found  the  "  Eest "  He  had  promised. 

Though  Maggie  understood  very  little  about 
the  victories  He  will  give  if  He  is  trusted,  yet 
she  had  trusted,  and  now  rose  up  strong  in  His 
strength. 

She  ran  down  to  the  little  parlour  again. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  coining  in  and  standing 
before  her,  "  I  am  so  sorry  I  didn't  answer  you 
as  I  ought  to  ha'  done.  Will  you  forgive  me, 
mother  ? " 

Still  the  grave  face  looked  down  at  her,  and 
her  mother  only  said — 

"  Well,  what  were  you  doing,  then  ? " 

"  I  was  praying  to  the  Lord  Jesus." 

"  And  so,"  said  her  mother  scornfully,  "  when 
you've  been  praying  to  Him,  you  come  straight 
away  and — behave  like  that.  I've  seen  how 
cross  and  angry  you've  been  all  the  evening ! " 

"  I  know  I  have  ;  I'm  awful  sorry,  mother," 
said  Maggie,  choking  down  the  tears  which 

OO        '  CJ 

would  rise  up  in  her  eyes,  and  overflow  in  spite 
of  her  utmost  efforts. 

"Well,  we'll  say  no  more,  then,"  said  Mrs. 
Moder  less  harshly,  "  go  to  bed  now." 

"  Won't  you  kiss  me,  mother  ?  " 

"  I  never  did  like  deceiving,"  said  her  mother, 


1 20  Out  in  the  Storm. 

stooping  to  kiss  her.  "  There,  don't  cry  any 
more." 

But  it  was  a  long  time  before  Maggie's  tears 
stopped,  though  she  went  up  to  bed  at  once,  and 
laid  her  head  on  her  pillow. 

If  her  cross  angry  face  had  so  offended  her 
mother,  must  it  not  have  grieved  her  Saviour  ? 
and  to  have  hurt  Him  who  >  had  loved  her  and 
died  for  her,  and  given  her  rest,  broke  her  little 
heart. 

So  it  was  not  till  her  father's  chapter  once 
more  came  into  her  mind  that  she  could  be  at 
peace. 

"  Bring  forth  the  best  robe  and  put  it  on 
him,"  it  said ;  and  with  this  comforting  thought, 
that  all  her  sins  were  covered  by  that  "  best 
robe,"  she  slept. 


CHAPTEE    XV. 

THE  STORM. 
EDSUMMEE  came,  and  with  it  changes 

O 

in  ]\  [aggie's  home. 

Mrs.  Moder's  shop  had  never  been  a 
very  successful  one,  and  when  the  help  was 
gone  which  her  husband's  tailoring  had  been, 
she  began  to  see  that  she  must  do  something 
different  if  she  intended  to  pay  her  rent. 

Then  arose  the  question  in  her  mind  what 
she  should  do.  She  had  no  friends  in  the  little 
town  in  which  they  lived,  and  except  that  grave 
there  was  no  tie  to  the  place. 

She  had  relations  in  Canada,  who  were  often 
writing,  telling  her  of  their  success,  and  now 
her  thoughts  turned  towards  them.  She  was 
too  proud  to  live  among  her  neighbours  in 
altered  circumstances,  and  unable  to  devise  any 
means  of  increasing  her  little  trade,  she  thought 
emigration  would  offer  a  sphere  for  her  energies. 


122  Out  in  the  Storm. 

To  3^rs.  Moder  to  decide  on  a  thing  was  to 
do  it,  and  before  many  weeks  were  over  she  had 
sold  her  business,  disposed  of  her  furniture,  and 
she  and  Maggie  were  ready  to  start  on  their  long 
journey. 

"  Mother,"  Maggie  said  on  the  morning  of  the 
last  day,  "  may  I  take  *  a  walk  with  Phoebe 
Benson  this  afternoon  ? " 

"  A  walk  ?  how  ridiculous !  I'm  sure  we're 
tired  enough  without  walks." 

"  But  I  did  want  to  go  with  her — once  more, 
mother,"  said  Maggie  beseechingly. 

"You  can  do  as  you  like,"  answered  Mrs. 
Moder,  turning  away. 

So  Maggie  ran  round  to  ask  Phoebe  if  she 
would  come,  and  to  her  joy  Phoebe's  mother 
gave  permission  for  a  walk  after  tea. 

The  days  were  long,  and  there  was  no  pleas- 
anter  time ;  so  by  and  by  the  little  girls  set 
forth  for  the  last  time  together. 

They  were  very  silent ;  the  solemnity  of  a 
long  parting  was  upon  both  their  hearts,  and 
when  they  stood  at  the  graves  neither  felt  in- 
clined to  talk. 

Maggie  sat  down  close  to  the  mound  which 
covered  her  father's  resting-place,  and  laid  her 
head  on  the  soft  grass,  while  Phoebe  stood  by 
hardly  knowing  if  she  should  speak  or  be  quiet. 


77ic  Storm.  123 

At  last  Maggie  raised  her  head  and  proposed  to 
go  home,  and  Phoebe  assented,  feeling  that  she  had 
not  been  as  sympathising  as  she  had  meant  to  be. 

They  turned  homewards  in  the  still  light  of 
the  summer  evening,  Maggie  straining  her  eyes 
as  long  as  a  single  peep  of  the  cemetery  was  to 
be  seen. 

"  It's  no  use  saying  a  lot,"  said  Phoebe  at  last ; 
"but  it  seems  to  bring  back  all  about  little 
Tommy  as  fresh  as  ever.  I  feel  as  if  it  had 
happened  only  yesterday." 

"  I  know,"  answered  Maggie. 

"  Somehow,  every  little  child  I  see,  or  if  I 
hear  of  any  grief  in  other  people,  I  live  it  all 
again;  and  yet" 

Her  companion  took  her  hand  silently,  squeez- 
ing it  in  both  of  hers. 

After  a  few  minutes,  Phoebe  continued — 

"  But  though  I'm  losing  you,  Maggie,  I've  got 
Jesus.  I've  come  quite  round  to  see  as  He  knew 
best.  He's  comforted  me  more  than  even  little 
Tommy  did,  though  a  while  ago  I  could  not 
have  believed  He  could  ! " 

Maggie's  eyes  glistened,  and  she  looked  peace- 
fully up  to  the  darkening  sky,  where  one  or 
two  stars  began  faintly  to  glimmer. 

"  It's  wonderful  what  He  can  do,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Phoebe. 


124  Out  in  the  Storm. 

And  so  they  parted,  each  having  ^with  her 
always  that  best  of  Friends. 

Late  that  night,  as  Maggie  turned  over  in  her 
sleep,  she  saw  her  mother  entering  in  her  bonnet 
and  shawl.  Her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping, 
and  Maggie  wondered  for  ever  so  long  where  she 
could  have  been.  But  by  and  by  she  guessed, 
and  when  the  cold  form  lay  down  by  her  side  she 
flung  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  whispered — 

"  Mother,  mother,  it's  a  good  thing  he  ain't 
left  behind  here!" 

"Maggie,"  said  Mrs.  Moder  in  a  frightened  voice, 
"  wake  up,  child,  there's  something  dreadful  hap- 
pening. I  never  heard  such  thunder." 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  night  on  the  middle 
of  the  Atlantic.  Maggie  started  up  with  a  dim 
sense  of  fear  and  horror. 

The  other  occupants  of  the  cabin  were  already 
hurrying  on  their  clothes.  Such  a  storm  as  this 
had  indeed  never  happened  to  them  before.  As 
soon  as  they  were  dressed  they  began  to  try  to 
get  on  deck.  What  was  their  dismay,  however, 
to  find  that  the  captain  had  ordered  the  hatchways 
to  be  fastened  down,  and  a  sailor  who  kept  guard 
on  the  steps  told  them,  "  It  were  no  use  hollering, 
for  however  loud  they  hollered,  the  storm  would 
be  louder,  and  no  one  could  hear." 


T/ie  Storm.  1 2  5 

So  the  frightened  passengers  retreated  to  their 
several  cabins,  and  Maggie  and  her  mother  pre- 
pared to  follow  them. 

"  Is  it  danger  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Moder  of  an  old 
sailor  as  she  passed  him. 

He  had  said  lightly,  "  Keep  up  heart,  my  dears," 
to  all  the  rest,  but  when  he  looked  into  the  stern 
anxious  face  he  paused  and  answered,  "  There's 
always  danger  in  such  a  storm  as  this — and 
there's  danger  in  all  the  storms  of  life,  if  we've 
not  got  a  sure  Harbour  to  run  into ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked  impatiently. 

"  Why,  ye  know,  we  are  out  on  the  open  sea, 
and  the  thunders  roar  round  us,  and  the  waves 
roll  high  as  mountains,  and,  if  we  were  to  spring 
a  leak,  down  we  should  go — for  it's  a  long  way 
off  from  port.  But  that's  not  like  Jesus  !  We're 
not  a  long  way  off  from  Him.  He's  our  Har- 
bour, He's  our  port ;  and,  whenever  we  like,  this 
very  moment,  no  matter  how  high  the  waves  is, 
no  matter  how  leaky  the  ship  is,  fly  to  Him  we 
may,  and  as  sure  as  we  fly,  safe  we  are ! " 

Maggie  was  pressing  her  mother's  icy  trem- 
bling hand  all  the  while  the  old  sailor  was  speak- 
ing, and,  as  he  turned  to  address  some  one  else, 
she  drew  her  mother  into  a  little  corner  by  the 
stairs.,  where  a  locker  stood  which  afforded  a  seat. 
Mrs.  Moder  mechanically  sat  down,  and 


126  Out  in  the  Storm. 

Maggie  climbed  into  her  lap.  The  old  sailor's 
words  had  broken  down  all  the  child's  reserve, 
and  the  thought  that  some  one  else  loved  and 
served  her  Lord  gave  her  courage. 

Mother,"  she  said,  clinging  round  her  neck, 
"  mother,  can't  you  do  as  the  old  sailor  says,  fly 
into  the  Harbour  ?  That's  what  father  did — just 
like  he  said — he  told  me  so — can't  you  do  it  too, 
mother,  and  then  we'd  all  be  there  ?  " 

"I'm  too  wicked,"  groaned  the  poor  woman, 
"too  full  of  sins  to  go  to  such  as  Him." 

"  Why,  mother,  He  receives  sinners,"  said 
Maggie,  clinging  tighter  yet,  and  kissing  the  stony 
face  over  and  over  ;  "  and  it  don't  matter  how  high 
the  waves  is,  nor  how  big  the  leak  is,  if  only 
you'll  fly  into  the  Harbour." 

"  Child,"  said  Mrs.  Moder  solemnly,  "  it  ain't 
that  I'm  frightened  of  the  storm — no,  not  one 
bit — but  I'm  frightened  of  the  storm  in  my 
own  heart,  and  the  awful  leak  in  my  life,  and 
it's  that  makes  me  fly  to  the  Harbour !" 

"  Then  you  do  fly,  mother  ? "  asked  Maggie, 
weeping  joyful  tears,  as  she  felt  two  strong  arms 
enfolding  her  closely,  closely. 

"  Yes,  I  do  fly  to  Jesus,  and  what's  more, 
Maggie,  I'm  safe  in  at  last — safe  in  the  Harbour/' 

And  thus,  Maggie's  mother  was  brought  home 
rejoicing  after  all. 


The  Storm.  i  2  7 

When  that  great  storm  at  sea  was  over,  and 
once  more  the  passengers  were  allowed  to  go  on 
deck,  Mrs.  Moder  sought  out  the  old  sailor  who 
had  spoken  to  her  so  kindly  and  faithfully. 

She  had  some  trouble  to  find  him,  for  he  was 
not  on  duty  at  the  moment ;  but  presently 
Maggie's  eyes  spied  him  seated  behind  a  great  coil 
of  rope,  and  she  ran  to  her  mother  with  the  news. 

"  He's  reading  his  Bible  in  a  comer,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Mrs.  Moder  made  her  way  along  the  rather 
crowded  deck,  for  every  one  who  was  well  enough, 
was  anxious  to  get  as  much  air  and  sunshine  as 
possible,  and  soon  she  found  the  old  man,  and 
seated  herself  by  his  side. 

"  Fair  mornin',  ma'am,"  he  said  cheerily;  "we've 
got  plenty  to  be  thankful  for  this  blessed  day." 

"Yes,  we  have,"  answered  Mrs.  Moder  seriously. 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  earnestly  from 
under  his  shaggy  eyebrows. 

"Be'ant  you  the  woman  as  asked  me  if  there 
was  danger  in  that  there  storm  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  and  it  was  a  bad  one,  wasn't  it  ?  "  she 
answered. 

"  A  very  bad  one." 

The  old  man  was  looking  in  both  faces  before 
him,  and  his  own  brightened. 

"  I  believe  as  it  wouldn't  matter  to  you  how  bad 


128  Oiti  in  the  Storm. 

the  storm  were.  For  when  we've  got  the  Lord  Al- 
mighty as  our  Refuge, nothing  can't  harm  us — eh?" 

"  You're  right  enough,"  answered  Mrs.  Moder ; 
"  but  it  wasn't  so  always.  I've  fought  against  it, 
and  wouldn't  have  none'  of  it  for  months  and 
months ;  and  God's  been  that  kind  and  patient, 
as  I  can't  tell  you,  sending  me  message  after 
message,  and  I've  been  that  ungrateful" 

"  But  you  ain't  now  ?  "  said  the  old  sailor,  when 
he  saw  the  expression  of  Maggie's  face  as  it 
looked  up  into  her  mother's. 

"No;  and  that's  why  I  come  to  tell  you 
myself  this  morning,  and  to  thank  you  as  you 
helped  me  by  your  words  that  night.  What  you 
said,  and  what  Maggie  here  said,  made  me  go 
straight  to  Him,  and  I'm  saved !  " 

"  Praise  the  Lord,"  answered  the  old  man  reve- 
rently, taking  off  his  hat.  "  Then,  if  you  know 
all  the  danger  of  the  storm,  you'll  be  likely  to  prize 
the  safety  and  happiness  of  the  Harbour  ? " 

And  Mrs.  Moder  answered  an  earnest  "Yes." 


THE  END. 


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